#feels so itchy and even clothing makes it worse

[selestial-princess]

Love how being on my period makes my entirety of my skin feel like I walked into a cloud of mosquitoes

[coichii]

101 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT ✭

—(🎧)—> when your sick, he always knows just how to take care of you

pairing - bf!minho ♥︎ fem!uni student!reader

genre: sickfic, angst, and comfort

word count: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, unhealthy habits, self deprecating behavior & thoughts.

You grab a sip of your water for what feels like the 1000th time tonight.

Somehow, throughout the day, you had picked up a cold. You knew there was some strain of flu spreading throughout your school, but man this one spread quicker than ever.

There’s no time for that though, especially not with midterms coming up right around the corner. So with heavy eyes and a sore throat that you swear is getting worse within a matter of seconds, you continue studying.

You didn’t live on campus. In fact, you lived in a small apartment with your boyfriend, Minho. It was close enough to both your university and his company, so it worked out perfectly. Not having to deal with pesky, disgusting roommates and getting to live with the love of your life instead was the dream.

The sound of keys ringing and the door cracking open was enough to pull you out of your thoughts. Your lover had just came home.

You smile gently as you hear his quiet footsteps grow ever closer to the door, heart bubbling with same excitement as it had when you first moved in. The feeling never went away, not even a little bit.

“Hi baby.” He says, walking in to your shared bedroom and sitting down on the bed behind you. “Still working this late?”

“Well yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” You reply. You wonder if your voice gave your illness away, because you can see his eye brows furrowing as you speak. “Are you sick y/n?”

“I just came down with it. My throat hurts, that’s all. I may not even be sick.” You try not to worry him, lying as you speak. If you’re being honest, your throat hurts like a bitch. But you know him well enough to know that if he knows how bad your feeling, he’ll focus all his energy on making you feel 110% and push off practically everything else.

He hums in response, eyes still searching yours before he’s moving to stand up. “Let me make you some tea then hmm? that should make you feel better.”

“Are you sure? It’s still super later Minho.” You respond, but you know it’s a loosing battle. He could be stubborn when he needed to be, and he is when it comes to you and your health.

“It’s fine. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you. Do you want chamomile?” He asked, not taking no for an answer. You smile as you feel yourself giving in, eyes feeling even more agonizingly heavy.

“Please” you groan out, and he’s leaving to the kitchen. You feel grateful for him as the day and pain catches up to you, finally deciding to close your textbooks and change for the night. Thankfully, you had already showered and brushed your teeth, so there was no worrying about that.

You grab the book you had been reading from your nightstand as you tuck your self into bed, silently waiting for the tea your boyfriend had prepared.

Even though you put up a slight fight about it, you can’t help but enjoy when he treats you like this. You love when he takes care of you, it makes you feel special and loved. It fills you with a special kind of warmth that can’t be described in words. Just pure love.

Just as the pain in your throat felt as if it was getting impossibly worse, your boyfriend came in with a steaming cup of hot chamomile tea, placing it down on the coaster next to you. “It’s really hot so be careful okay? I’m going to go shower now.” He dotes on you, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Ok, thank you so much baby. I’ll probably be sleep by the time you’re done.” And he hums in response, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before heading to the bathroom, clothes in hand.

The tea does a good job with soothing your throat, the sweet, honey taste dripping down your throat perfectly remedying the itchy, scratchy feeling.

You decide to finally get some shut eye as midnight comes around quicker than you thought, placing your book back on the nightstand and trying to get comfortable.

Key word : Trying

It’s hard, especially with the small cough that creeped its way into your throat all of a sudden. It’s keeping you up, the hacking noise disrupting the peace your body needed to finally fall asleep.

It takes longer than you wish it did, but eventually the tea is able to coax your body into sleep, eyes finally getting the rest they desperately needed.

Moments later, Minho joins you in the bedroom, clad in nothing but breezy pajama pants. Getting into bed with you and snuggling close, he knows you’re asleep, but he can’t help but begin to pepper small kisses upon face and hold you tighter.

“Get better, my love.” He drifts off, falling into sleep alongside you.

And you wish you could say you did.

You woke up smoldering hot but shivering at the same time. You look at your clock, groaning as the bright light amplified the small headache that had spread through your entire face. 10 am. You’re usually up by seven.

You silently say a quick “thank you prayer” that you don’t have classes on Wednesdays. Taking a day off of school during exam season is a whole death wish. But with how things are progressing, you’re not sure if you can even go tomorrow without getting 9-1-1 called.

You open your phone, groaning again as the light messes with your headache, but reading who the message is from still causes a weak smile to take form on your face.

—

new message from “linoo❤️🐰”

linoo❤️🐰: Good morning y/n.

linoo❤️🐰: Are you feeling better?

linoo❤️🐰 : I know you don’t have classes today, so you should take it easy.

linoo❤️🐰 : If you want to call or need me to come over, tell me. You know I won’t mind.

you : hey, I just woke up❤️ im fine though.

he texts back within less than a minute

linoo❤️🐰 : your symptoms are gone?

you : well no… they’re worse. but I’m fine !! i promise

linoo❤️🐰 : you’ll call me if it gets worse right?

you : yes :) I promise

linoo❤️🐰 : okay, have a good day. I love you

you : I love you 2 !!

—

You sigh as you place your phone down, mentally deciding to go take a shower. Surely that’ll fix the headache right?

Your head spins as you get out of bed, the world looking blurry and dizzy with specs of gray. It’s hard to walk.

“How the actual fuck did it get this bad so quickly?” You mumble to yourself, stumbling towards the bathroom and turning on the water.

The steam helps a little bit with the tension in your head and the congestion of your nose, but it’s not doing much. Atleast not as much as you need. Your throat was still burning for some relief, and the dizziness hasn’t stopped either. You’re thinking if it gets any worse, you’re probably going to have to go to the hospital.

The shower itself helps a little bit more with alleviating the pain, the warm water cascading down your skin and warming it up inside. But you can still feel it.

You can still feel the pounding of the headache you swear is forming into a migraine practically tearing your head apart, your throat is still screaming you for something warm, and to make matters worse, you think you’re developing nausea too.

Yup, definitely the flu

The flu never stopped anyone though, and midterms are still right around the corner. So with a dry cough and constant sneeze, you were popping advil, and taking a seat at your desk.

“A little sickness can’t me from doing this” you thought to yourself, but it was much harder than you thought.

Suddenly the sun had already set. The moonlight creeps its way inside through the slits in the blinds, but you hadn’t seemed to notice. You didn’t notice the way your eyes were blurred with unshed tears either. Your mind was absolutely buried in the thought of midterms.

I’m not prepared. Im going to fail. I’m a disappointment. I’m so useless, one fucking cough and I end up like this? I don’t even know why I try anym-

“Y/n!” Minho’s voice cuts through the mess swirling through your brain. You look over to where the voice came from and you swear you can see his face crumble the moment he looks at you.

To be fair, you hadn’t looked in the mirror since you took your shower in the morning, but Minho saw something different. He saw disheveled hair, droopy and tired eyes, beads of sweat drooping down your shivering body, and most importantly, tears.

“You told me you would call me if it got worse.” He bitterly spoke, and you felt that cut right through your heart. “I-It didn’t. I’m fine min-“ but he’s cutting you off immediately.

“You’re not fine y/n. You’re literally crying!” He booms, and you can’t help but feel extremely guilty. “Have you ate today? Or at least took medicine?!”

“Uhm, once at like n-nine. Look min I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for not calling you when I was supposed to. B-but my studying. If I stop, I’m not going to make it. I can’t fail min.”

His expression softens at your admission, eyebrows de-furrowing and eyes being replaced by compassion instead of anger and hurt as he walks closer towards you.

“Baby, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. I get it, I love that you want to study. But baby, is it really worth your life?”

Crack

“I know it means a lot, but so do you and your mental health. You can’t push yourself this hard and expect good results. You need to rest.”

Crack

“I love you so much. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Please let me take care of you okay? That’s all I want to do for you love.”

Shatter

You’re sobbing all of a sudden, burrowing your head in his sweatshirt as tears pour as of your eyes like faucets. It’s making your head hurt more, but you didn’t care. You just needed him.

He let you stay there for a while, he knew you needed it. He shushed the small sorries coming out of your mouth, telling you that you didn’t need to apologize. He only pulled you away when you calmed down completely.

“I’m going to get the thermometer. Stay here, my baby.” and he’s off to grab the thermometer you kept on hand from one of the cabinets in the bathroom, coming back with a concerned look on his face.

He quickly rubbed the thermometer along your forehead, reading out your temperature with a sharp ‘beep!’

“101 degrees.” He sighed. “Baby, if this gets any worse, you’re going to have to go to the hospital.”

Your breath hitches and tears spring to your eyes again, which Minho notices immediately.

“Hey, look at me.” He says, using his pointer finger to make you face him. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you feel better okay?”

You nod along, resting your body back into his comforting arms as he massages your tense shoulders. He’s whispering small praises as he does this, and you swear you can feel your headache dissipating slowly.

While even though it’s going to be a while before you’re completely better, or even a little bit, you knew with him, it would all be okay.

As long as you have him taking care of you, comforting you, and loving you, you know you’ll be okay.

back to masterlist

[bluecollarmcandtf]

The New Garbageman

Lance slowed from his run and glanced at the trash compactor sitting outside his apartment complex. He needed to catch his breath, but he hated being so close. The young man gave a disdainful look to the laborer who seemed wholly unbothered by his choice in career. 'Some men are just meant for menial crap like this,' he thought to himself, 'God knows I wouldn't be caught dead doing it.'

The jogger looked straight ahead as he passed, not wanting to make eye contact with the sucker lugging away a week's worth of his building's refuge. Lance thought the smell alone was enough to make him gag, but he was even more disturbed by the garbageman's indifference to the squishy contents leaking all over his clothes.

'At what point is that worker just considered trash himself?' Lance pondered with a grimace.

Just as he was about to escape into the entrance of the complex, a sharp ripping noise sounded behind him, followed by a clamour of things crashing to the ground.

Lance made the mistake of looking back, seeing a huge mess scattered across the sidewalk. It looked like a garbage can had exploded and now there was rotten food and crumpled papers everywhere, but that damn sanitation worker had vanished!

"The hell!" Lance shouted in anger, but his rage didn't last long.

A sudden pain stabbed him in the back and he crumpled to the ground like all the garbage had moments before. Everything went black...

Lance shook off the daze and found himself leaning against one of the garbage bins. The pain in his back didn't feel as acute anymore. All he could feel was an unusual warmth spreading from where he had been stung.

"Where is that goddamn garbage man," he growled, wincing at the litter surrounding him. He was ready to give that idiot a piece of his mind.

He put his hand on the concrete in an attempt to get himself up, but was surprised by the feeling of gloves over his fingers. Lance stared at his gloved palms with total confusion. He was sure as hell that he didn't put those old worn things on!

Then he noticed his shoes. They weren't the sneakers he'd been jogging in moments before. They were some kind of work boots!

"What the hell!" he exclaimed, wondering if he'd actually been knocked out and robbed.

Lance pushed his fears aside and began climbing to his feet, but as he did, he noticed something had appeared over his shoulders!

"Where'd this come from?" he cried, becoming more and more angry as articles of clothing just kept appearing on his body.

He was positive this dirty old jacket didn't belong to him. It was covered with stains and reeked like a public bathroom. Lance had a habit of always keeping his clothes freshly laundered and fragranced. He wouldn't even wear jeans two days in a row without washing them, so what was this raggedy work jacket doing in his back?

Lance frantically started to pull the thing off, but it seemed stuck on his waistband or something. No amount of thrashing could get him to pull the thing over his head!

He moaned in frustration and threw his fists down angrily. Then, he noticed why the jacket wouldn't come off. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. The jacket was attached to the new pants he had on!

Lance shouted out in a state of confused panic. "Help!" he cried, not knowing what else to do, but even if someone did come over, what would he tell them? They'd never believe that his clothes were magically being replaced!

He couldn't even bring himself to look down at what he was wearing. Gone were his running shorts and tank top. In their place, a gross old jumpsuit had enveloped his body. Lance was struck by the itchiness of the course material, but he was even more horrified by how damp it felt against his skin. He didn't want to know what liquid those coveralls were saturated with; oil, sweat, or something even worse?

Lance couldn't find his phone in any of his new attire's pockets. He didn't know what was going on, but he was about to start screaming if he didn't find out soon. His breathing intensified while his heart raced out of his chest. He could feel the panic attack coming.

Then all of a sudden, he stopped...

That warm feeling in his back had washed over his entire body and told every tense muscle to relax. Lance's heart rate eased and his breathing slowed. The confusion, worry, and panic in his face was gone: a numb expression sat in its place.

Lance didn't understand why he had suddenly become so calm. Internally, he was still disgusted, horrified, and outraged, but he couldn't deny how relaxed his body had became.

Finally able to gain his bearing, the former jogger climbed up from the ground and gave his new outfit another look.

"What the hell is this thing," he wondered, but his voice had a comparatively lifeless tone.

Lance studied the clothing. The boots were caked with dirt and grime. He could feel his feet sweating inside them. In fact, his entire body felt like it was being cooked. He was completely covered from the neck down with some pretty heavy duty work wear. It was all clothing he would never be caught dead in, yet it looked kind of familiar.

Suddenly it, clicked.

"I'm dressed a goddamn garbage man," Lance spoke again with a monotoned voice.

Then his mouth moved on its own, "I am a garbage man."

The words chilled him to the core. He had not meant to say them! That warm feeling that started in his back had moved to his throat and taken over.

Before he knew it, his hands were moving on their own too. They were picking up the trash littered around him! His legs moved to, crawling his body across the concrete, and Lance couldn't do anything to stop himself.

His mouth wouldn't open when he tried! He wanted to scream! His arms and legs weren't doing what he wanted either. He was trapped in his own body! Lance couldn't speak; he couldn't run; he couldn't hide; he couldn't even panic. His own heart beat at a steady pace like he was the calmest man in the world! His lungs systematically drew in breath after calm breath, and his face was locked in an empty look of indifference...

Lance would have to get used to being around the trash. He was a garbageman now...

One Year Later...

Lance had never imagined he'd be trapped as a garbage collector for this long. His body hadn't let him look back once since he walked away from his old life. Who knows what happened to his apartment and family. He'd long since given up on the idea of ever going back to his old life.

His days were now spent being puppettered to take out other people's trash. It was disgusting hard work that he got no thanks for, but that didn't matter. He wasn't in control of his body, and his body just kept lugging rank bags of garbage day after day after day.

He'd been subjected to millions of dirty looks as people caught sight of him. Lance knew he must seem pathetic. He was sure he smelled even worse. How could anyone respect a man like him? Even after a year, his face still burnt red when someone looked grossed out by him.

The discomfort of his uniform has become normal to Lance. It was itchy and humid under there, which made sense since it hadn't been washed in the all the time he'd had it on.

Well, that wasn't entirely true...

Every night after work, his body would hop on the garbage truck and get dropped off at the sanitation department's parking garage. There he and the rest of the garbage crew would hose each other down. It didn't do much other than make him cold, but at least he got that.

After the makeshift shower, he and the rest of the guys would file into the garage. Lance assumed that every one of the laborers were being used as puppets like him, because they appeared just as numb and lifeless as he did. There was no chummy chitchat; there were no friendly waves or claps on the back; hell there wasn't even a smile or frown on any of their faces.

All the garbagemen acted like robotic slaves for unpaid labor, which is exactly what they were.

Lance's theory was that when he'd felt that pain a year ago, he'd had some sort of Syfy-futuritic-techno crap inserted in his back. It had to be controlling his actions. He could feel it on his spine, sending signals to the resto for his body for how to behave.

It was just a theory. He couldn't prove or disprove anything when he had no autonomy over his own body.

So he was stuck seeing himself play out the same awful routine everyday. 'At least the day's almost over,' he thought to himself. At least he could still dream of a life where he didn't wear this disgusting uniform and pick up garbage all day.

Lance's body joined the rest of the men on the floor. This was where they spent their nights. Whoever was controlling them was clearly too cheap to buy them beds let alone showers or laundry machines

It usually got pretty bleak in there: a whole room of men that aren't allowed to talk or interact outside of working together. There was nothing else to do but sleep, so Lance slid down to the concrete and closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be anything other than a smelly garbageman ever again.

He thought back to his old life, dreaming about that last morning run he'd gotten before all this happened. He fantasized about what would have happened if he'd just ran around the block one more time.

Would he have avoided this fate or was he just destined for menial crap like this?

Thanks for the Ask, workgearfan

[burnthatbridge]

8x03 coda

buck being melodramatic about gerrard 'taking him under his wing' also on ao3 if you prefer

Buck spends an age in the shower at the end of their shift. He’s sooty, yes, sweaty, definitely, but no worse than usual, a lot cleaner than he has been on certain occasions — like after trying to dig Eddie out of forty feet of mud, for example. But, even when the water has long run clear, he can’t shake the sensation of being covered with dirt. 

In fact, when he finally shuts off the water, wraps a towel about his hips, his skin scrubbed pink, he almost feels worse, dirtier than when he got in. The surface layer of grime gone, uncovering the muck at the core of him. 

The locker room is almost empty, A-shift long departed: Chim home to Jee and Mara, Maddie heading out for her own shift; Hen meeting Karen for dinner, Denny at a friend’s. And Buck’s been trying to wash himself clean for long enough that B-shift have passed through, all changed from their civvies to their uniforms and headed out into the station, some away on a call. 

The locker room is almost empty. It would be completely so if it weren’t for Eddie. He’s seated on the bench, fully dressed in his street clothes and shoes, hair almost completely dry from his own — significantly shorter — shower, scrolling through his phone. But he looks up as Buck shuffles into the room, eyes on him as Buck opens their locker, hefts out his bundle of clothes and dumps them on the bench, a couple of feet along from where Eddie is sitting. 

“You okay?” he asks, locking his phone, tucking it away in his pocket, entire focus shifted now that Buck’s there. 

Buck nods, reflexively. “’M fine,” he states, aiming to sound it. As he tugs on his boxers, he tries to change the subject, “Thought you’d be out of here by now.”

He and Eddie don’t have plans this evening, and Buck had mentioned at the start of their shift — back in the inverse of this moment, when he’d been sitting on the bench, ready, but chatting to Eddie while he got changed — that he was probably going to see Tommy tonight, so Eddie can’t be expecting them to make any impromptu ones. But there’s no denying that Eddie’s been waiting for him, all the way through his endless, hopeless shower. 

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything further. 

Buck towels his hair furiously, then rubs his shoulders, his chest, his arms down, hard. He feels itchy, like there’s a film over his skin, a coating of filth. He tugs his t-shirt over his head, slides his sweatpants up his thighs. Collapses down on the bench and reaches for his socks, pulls on one, then the other. 

The clothes are clean: the tee, socks, and underwear fresh, and the sweats only donned for an hour that morning, for his trip to work. And yet, he still feels unclean, tainted. 

Buck looks over at Eddie, finds him slouched on the bench, arms braced behind himself, already looking back. 

Buck looks away. Plucks at the fabric of his pant leg, scuffs one socked foot against the other, shrugs his shoulders against the scratch of his shirt tag at the back of his neck. Sighs. Glances over at Eddie again. Finds warm brown eyes still watching him, waiting for him, soft and open. 

“I hate him,” Buck says, low, even though Gerrard has absolutely already left for the day, isn’t around to hear his words, and turns his eyes to the concrete of the floor. 

“I know you do.” Eddie’s voice is as gentle as his gaze. “You’re not alone in that.”

And that’s true, but it’s also not, because– Because Buck has been singled out. And he knows what that means. Has heard all the stories of Gerrard’s first reign of terror, from Hen, from Chim, from Tommy. Knows about the people Gerrard had it out for back then, and the people he had on his side. 

“No,” Buck says, hears how frustrated it comes out, but also how plaintive, “I really, really hate him.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, waits Buck out, while he tries to work the tangle of his thoughts into something resembling a coherent statement that he can say out loud. 

Because he does, he hates Gerrard, who has been so awful to them all, Buck included, but especially the people Buck loves most. Hates him for holding nothing but contempt for them being the thing Buck loves most about them: themselves. 

“He’s– he’s so fucking horrible to everyone.” Buck says, needlessly, because of course Eddie knows this, has been both the subject of Gerrard’s disdain and witness to him turning it on the rest of them. 

Only now, since Buck attempted to murder him and inadvertently ended up saving his life, Buck isn’t included with the rest of them, isn’t subject to Gerrard’s terrible treatment anymore. 

“But, now, he’s being nice to me. Taking me ‘under his wing’.” Just quoting Gerrard’s horrifying pronouncement from that morning makes Buck feel sick, nausea turning his stomach, climbing his throat. He can still feel the ghost touch of Gerrard’s arms around him, poison leaching into him at all the points Gerrard’s body touched his own. “It’s like he wants to mold me into someone just like him.”

Gerrard has seen something in him, recognized the same rot in Buck that resides in his own core. Like calling to like. 

“It’s like I already am.” Buck shivers, scrubbing his hands up and down his own arms, trying, fruitlessly to slough off this feeling, to shed his own skin. The first shower didn’t work, and he could hold out a futile hope that if he takes a second once he gets home it will finally work, but he fears no amount of water can wash him clean of this. The stain on him Gerrard has spotted and identified as kin permeated too deep, sunk too far, into his soul to ever be cleansed. 

“Hey.” Eddie grabs for one of his wrists, squeezes and pulls Buck’s arm down, holds on as he says, “You are nothing like him. And you never could be.”

“But,” Buck argues, clenching his free hand into a fist, taking the pain of his fingernails piercing his palm as penance, “If he wants to– to mentor me, he has to think he can turn me into the sort of man he is. He– he must think I’m like him.”

Eddie snatches Buck’s other wrist, puts pressure into his grip until Buck relaxes his fist, fingers no longer biting into his flesh. “Even if he thinks that, he’s wrong.” Eddie’s tone is vehement, but turns to a scoff as he goes on, “And if that’s his idea of mentorship, he’s as bad at it as he is at being captain. You’re not supposed to coach someone into a version of yourself, you’re supposed to help them become the best they can be.”

“He definitely wants to coach me in his evil ways.” Of that Buck is sure. And it feels like certain doom. 

But Eddie snorts, amused at Buck’s phrasing, not seeming to believe that Buck is standing on the edge, about to fall into an irredeemable version of himself. “I’m sure. But he’s not going to have any success in that, Buck.”

“He’s not?”

“Definitely not. Sure, he’s going to give you terrible advice and you might have to go play golf with him, and do whatever other horrific bonding activities he wants, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to turn you into him. That’s impossible.”

“Really?”

Eddie nods. “He’d have more luck getting Chimney to agree you should always be allowed the clipboard during stock checks, and we all know how likely that is to happen.”

“Chim would never,” Buck says because, really, Chim would never.

“Exactly.” Eddie releases Buck’s wrists, lifts one hand to grip his shoulder instead. “I know it sucks right now but we will be rid of him eventually. And we’ll get Bobby back, your real mentor.” Eddie smiles at Buck then, a tilted, lopsided curling of one half of his mouth. “Not that I think you need mentorship. You’re pretty excellent just the way you are.”

Buck nods, hoping so hard that eventually will come quickly, that they get Bobby back sooner rather than later, and trying to believe in himself. He kind of has to when Eddie believes in him, because he will always believe in Eddie, trust in what he says. But he still feels the cling of Gerrard to him. He scrubs at his bare arms once more. 

“You’re cold,” Eddie says, misinterpreting the motion, perhaps purposefully so. “Here.” He tugs the hoodie he’s wearing up and off, holds it out to Buck. “Take this, you’ll feel better.”

“You don’t need to give me that,” Buck protests.

“Well, I am,” Eddie says, shaking the garment slightly, coaxing Buck to take it. He grins. “Besides, it’s yours anyway.”

It is, Buck realizes as he lets Eddie hand it over, the fabric familiar to the touch, soft and comforting. 

Eddie stands from the bench, shoulders his bag, smiles at him. “Have a nice time tonight. Tell Tommy I said ‘hi’.”

Buck nods as Eddie crosses to the door and leaves, calling a see you tomorrow back over his shoulder. Buck watches his progress out of the station through the glass wall. 

Once Eddie passes out the bay doors, out of sight, Buck pulls the hoodie on. And in it, still warm from the heat of Eddie’s body and smelling like a mix of both of them and the laundry detergent they use at the Diaz house, he finally feels clean. 

[lovesickonmybed]

to hands between legs | 18+

masterlist | xo masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | bully!ellie williams x loser!virgin!reader

synopsis | ellie williams made your high school experience a living hell, but once you got to college you thought you were finally free…until running into her at a frat party where she humiliates you just like it’s high school all over again.

warnings | 18+ MDNI! bullying, wedgies, dub-con, underage drinking, panty kink, degradation, humiliation, fingering, virgin reader, mommy kink.

word count | 4.4k

a/n | if wedgie kinks make you uncomfortable or seem cringe to you then please keep scrolling and let me indulge in my weird little kinks thank you! also i dropped out of college so if any of this is inaccurate i'm sorry!! i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

“Dude you are not wearing those to the party tonight!” Your roommate Seline scoffs looking you up and down as you stand in your underwear looking through your clothes in an attempt to find something semi-decent for your first party of the year. You’ve got on a plain white bra and a pair of white hanes panties that sit high up on your waist. 

You turn back to look at her with an annoyed sneer on your face, “They’re called underwear for a reason, they’ll be under my clothes, where no one can see them. I doubt it’ll make a difference, I’m not exactly trying to get laid tonight, especially not by any of those guys.”

“Wearing granny panties at any time besides your time of the month is just…wrong! There’s no way those are comfortable, like seriously I see you pick your wedgie like 20 times a day, just grow up and switch to thongs already.” Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and you slip on a black skort that stops at your mid thigh before turning back to face your roommate. 

“I do not pick that many wedgies, stop being so dramatic! A thong would just be worse, I don’t want a string up my ass all day…” You retort.

“So instead of a string you want that itchy fabric to bunch up and give you a cottontail? Got it…this is why you haven’t gotten laid yet…” Seline says, side eyeing you.

“I really don’t need this right now, I’m wearing my comfortable and reliable panties and you can have fun telling a frat guy to stop pulling on your thong strings when he’s had too much to drink.”

“My thong is getting taken off by a frat guy tonight, not pulled up, honey. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can go, maybe if you pick the right top someone can look past your choice in underwear,” Seline chuckles.

You roll your eyes playfully and decide on a cropped white tank top, you slip on a pair of black heeled boots and a light wash denim jacket to finish off the look. You want to look alright just in case, you haven’t had the best luck romantically and definitely not sexually since arriving at school. You’ve made out with a few girls at parties but due to your own nerves you haven’t done anything past feeling them up and trying to not cum immediately when their hand is on your thigh. You swear you got more action from your high school bully…

“Come on, if you make me even later than we already are then I’m gonna lose it!” Your roommate commands as you grab your bag from off your bed. You’re not exactly the party type and you sure as hell weren’t in high school, then again you never got a chance to go to parties in high school thanks to Ellie fucking Williams for making you a pariah. You still have no clue what you did to the girl for her to target you as viciously as you did, you barely knew her…maybe she wanted to establish dominance when she arrived in Jackson, sure being the new kid can be tough but it doesn’t exactly call for you to make someone miserable everyday of their life. It started with a shoulder check in the hallway and escalated to you having to budget out having to replace panties on an almost weekly basis due to the waistband ripping wedgies Ellie loved to dish out. 

College was a fresh start for you, a way to escape your past as ‘Wedgie Girl’ and to finally make some friends…but thanks to your busy class schedule and your social awkwardness it’s proven harder than you expected. Your roommate Seline was kind enough to introduce you to some of her friends and you’re pleading with whatever forces are out in the universe that some of them will be there tonight to hang with you when your roommate abandons you for some dick from a sweet, but ultimately brainless frat boy. 

“Do you know if anyone we know is gonna be at the party?” You ask Seline, nervously playing with the hem of your skirt as you both walk the path to the nearby frat house. 

“Uh, I think Taylor mentioned she might be there…I’m not sure when though. But hey, if she’s not I’m sure you’ll find someone to spend your night with if I disappear,” She smiles, nudging your arm with her shoulder playfully. 

“More like when you disappear…”

“Hey! I don’t always disappear!” Seline scoffs.

“If there’s dick from a himbo you do,” you retort.

“Can you blame me? They’re always the sweetest in and out of bed, I can’t help that I like a dumb guy who will actually take care of me after we fuck instead of some asshole who’ll just take my panties after!” On multiple occasions freshman year Seline had some of her favorite pairs stolen by business majors, it was truly unfortunate. 

“Dude I swear to god I’m on a mission to get your panties back tonight, you know I love stealing shit from frat guys. I’m gonna steal your panties back,” you joke to Seline.

“I don’t want them back, they’re probably crusted with cum by now!” Seline laughs.

“Oh my god! Why would you put that image in my head, jesus christ!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Seline is out of breath as she apologizes. 

You reach the lawn of the frat house and you and Seline look at one another.

“If you plan to hookup with someone and stay at their place, text me and share your location, deal?” You say to Seline, making sure to establish a plan for tonight.

“Deal. Same goes for you, babe,” she smirks.

“We both know I won’t be hooking up with anyone but the optimism is appreciated, Seline.”

Seline laughs and throws her arm around your waist as you walk into the party, music playing loudly, the house filled with college students with drinks in their hands. 

You comb the crowd to look for anyone you may recognize but you’re unsuccessful, you frown and pull yourself closer to Seline for comfort. You cup her ear, “I don’t see Taylor yet.” 

“Let me text her and see when she’ll be here,” Seline responds as she pulls out her phone and pulls up Taylor’s contact, she shoots her a text and while she waits on a response y’all go into the kitchen to find something to drink. 

You separate from Seline and look around at all your options, you decide to just grab a Whiteclaw, ignoring how douchey it makes you feel to be seen drinking one. You crack it open and take a sip as Seline pours herself a shot. You lean against the counter as people come up to greet Seline, you feel out of place at this party but you try to ignore the feeling and take another sip.

“Hey, is it okay if I go with them?” Seline motions to the two girls standing where she just was, “I don’t want to leave you alone but we’ve been meaning to catch up for awhile y’know?”

You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek, “Yeah…it’s okay. Go catch up,” you give her a fake smile and in response she gives you a real one.

“I appreciate it, I’m sorry. If you need anything just text me, okay?” 

“Got it. Go have fun for me,” you smile.

Seline gives you a quick hug and turns to the other girls, walking off to the backyard together.

You stay where you are in the kitchen, bobbing your head to the music and mostly aimlessly scrolling on your phone when people watching gets boring. You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar laugh, “Holy shit…you actually made it out of Jackson? I’m shocked, truly.” Even if you hadn’t looked up you’d know exactly who was talking to you. Standing in front of you, a beer in hand, is Ellie Williams. 

You gasp softly and take a long swig from your drink, “I-You-”

“I didn’t know you went here, how’d you even get in?” Ellie asks, taking a step towards you. You can smell the woodsy cologne that’s been her signature scent since high school, she’s wearing a dark green flannel over a black tank top and a pair of black jeans. 

“I-I’m smart…I guess…” You manage to say. You regret it instantly, face heating up when you realize how stupid you sound. 

“Mhm, yeah of course…” She steps closer to you, setting her hand next to your hip on your counter, trapping you slightly as she gets in your personal space, “You know,” she chuckles, “Your roommate is a real dick for letting you leave the dorm like this…”

“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” You ask, instantly regressing back to the insecure high schooler you were just two years ago.

Ellie smirks, wetting her lips with her tongue, “Nothing, I’m just fucking with you, loser. You’re just as easy to mess with as you were in highschool…” 

You look down, avoiding eye contact, and shrink into yourself, “Why…why are you doing this? We’re not in highschool anymore, Ellie. I mean…who even bullies people in college?”

Ellie doesn’t appreciate your attempt to stand up for yourself, “Someone who sees a loser in desperate need of help…you still wear granny panties?” She bites her lip as she watches your face contort into an embarrassed look.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to self soothe. 

Ellie pauses for a minute, turning around to scope out the house. She grabs your wrist and starts to pull you along with her.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” You yell, trying to tug your wrist out of her grip, it’s a futile attempt as she’s always been much stronger than you. 

“Shut up,” Ellie commands, continuing to pull you along with her to the upstairs of the house. The partygoers hanging out on the staircase pay you no mind, continuing their conversations without a care in the world. Ellie pulls you down a hallway, opening one of the doors and pushing you inside, causing you to fall to your knees. Ellie locks the door as you scramble to your feet, mostly out of fear of what substances could be on this carpet.

Ellie turns around to face you, “Take your skirt off.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What?”

“Are you stupid? Take your goddamn skirt off,” Ellie sneers.

“What? Why? I-I’m not taking off my skirt for you! And I’m not wearing granny panties!” 

“Then lift up your skirt and prove it. You’ve got a little cottontail poking out of the back of your skirt by the way…nice hanes,” She laughs and pushes you back, causing you to stumble.

“You’re a sadistic bitch!” You exclaim, backing up away from her.

Ellie walks towards you, backing you against a wall, “I think you meant sexy, but that’s alright sweetheart I still understand you.” Ellie grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, using her arm to pin you against the wall, your face feeling squished against the plaster. She grabs the bottom of your skirt and pulls it up, groaning in disappointment when she realizes you’re wearing a skort. “Fuckin prude,” she mutters before grabbing the waistband of your skort and yanking it down, exposing your white hanes to her.

“Hey! What the fuc-” 

Ellie cuts you off, “Sorry did I tell you to speak?”

“N-No but-”

Ellie cuts you off again by grabbing you by the back of your head and shoving your face even harder against the wall, causing you to whine in pain. “You speak when I tell you to speak, until then shut your goddamn mouth before I gag you.” Ellie slaps your ass and chuckles when you yelp. “Do you still want to stand here and deny that this borderline geriatric pair of panties are granny panties? Huh? I mean, this sure as shit ain’t a thong, but if you’re really so deep in denial I guess I could be generous and turn it into one for you, honey.”

Before you can even think about protesting Ellie grabs your waistband and pulls it up teasingly slow, your eyes go wide as you’re transported back to highschool by the feeling of the cotton fabric sliding against your skin and situating itself between your cheeks. As the fabric begins to sink into your folds you’re transported back to a memory of Ellie giving you a wedgie in the locker room during senior year.

“Shut up and take it, loser! It’s your fault for pissing me off today!” Ellie whisper-yelled as she pulled the front of your panties violently, tears welled up in your eyes as the baby pink fabric was forced into the folds of your cunt.

“Stop! Come on, you really don’t have to do thi-”

Ellie cuts you off with another harsh tug of your panties, your mouth falls open as a sharp pain shoots up your ass. You try to reach back and tug your waistband away from Ellie but she’s quick to pin your wrists against your back, using her body weight to help pin you against the wall. “Don’t you fucking dare! You’re so goddamn defiant, I miss the helpless loser you were in highschool, this was so much easier back then. You knew how to shut up and take it.”

Ellie shoves her leg between your thighs and lets go of your waistband, she uses her now free hand to remove her belt and restrain your wrists with it. “There. Now you have no choice but to take it,” she laughs. You try to squirm out of her grasp but with her thigh pressed against your cunt all it does is make your face heat up and make you hold back a moan of pleasure. Ellie continues to hold you against the wall as she grabs your waistband again, “Ready for me, wedgie girl?” Ellie smirks as she starts to pull your waistband again, pulling harder than before, almost lifting you off the ground with her first pull.

You choke on nothing as she uses your old nickname, feeling you with even more shame as your brain floods with countless memories of your public humiliation at her hands. Your eyes screw shut as you feel the threads snapping against your skin, the painful friction against your most sensitive parts sends pained moans from your lips. 

“P-Please…h-hurts so bad,” you whimper, tears forming in your eyes as you rest your forehead against the wall.

“It’s supposed to, dumbass. I bet you like it though, don’t you? It’s the most attention your little virgin cunt has ever gotten, huh?” Ellie snickers. 

“I-I’m not a virgin!” You reply.

“Bullshit. I doubt you’ve even had an orgasm…poor thing, bet your poor little pussy just leaks from the slightest attention…I could breathe on it and you’d cum. It’s a miracle you haven’t cum yet, I’m pratically fucking you with these,” Ellie pulls harder, getting you onto your toes to emphasize her point. Ellie giggles, “You know what, you’re not a virgin I’ve already fucked you with your panties.”

You mewl with embarrassment which sends Ellie into a fit of laughter, once she calms herself she lets go of your waistband. You sigh in relief as you think she’ll let you go but once you feel her grasp on your leg holes your eyes go wide. You’re not getting off that easy. 

“You know what, let me rip these and I’ll give you a pity orgasm, how does that sound, loser?”

“No, come on! Ellie don’t rip these!” You plead.

“Oh come on, nerd. I’ve already stretched them out, they’re unwearable, just let me have my fun,” Ellie begins to lift you by the leg holes of your panties. You cry out in pain, your legs kicking out of instinct as you feel the fabric of your panties pulled back and through your cunt, the fabric scraping against your cunt in such a way that causes you to begin to cry.

“Can’t believe you’re already crying, you went fucking soft on me, nerd. Guess I gotta do this everyday and build your tolerance back up,” she says in a patronizing tone. 

“No, no, no, please…Ellie…” Your breath is ragged as she continues to split your ass with your panties, showing no mercy as she bounces you, the sound of threads ripping fills the room.

“Oh come on, baby, you can take it. Don’t tap out now, you’re so close,” Ellie coos, snaking one of her hands around to grab the front of your panties and begins pulling from the front too. You scream in pain and she lets go and begins to scold you, “Shut the fuck up! Are you trying to get caught? You want everyone to see you getting fucked with your panties?” 

You sniffle, “N-No…”

“Then shut. the. fuck. up. and take it. Got it, slut?” She questions.

“Got it…”

Ellie resumes and you bite your lip to hold back your pained noises as she bounces you by the front and back of your panties, making you feel like you’re being split in half. You can’t remember the last time you were in this much pain and you hate how soaked it gets you, a wide wet patch is very visible in the gusset of your panties. It doesn’t take many more pulls for the panties to finally rip, you moan loudly in pain and pleasure as you feel the fabric rip against your cunt. Ellie is quick to grab you by your waist, old hand holding the ripped pair of panties as she helps you to the floor. You sit against the wall and catch your breath, looking up at Ellie completely wrecked. Your mascara is smudged beneath your eyes and you have red marks on your hips. 

Ellie squats down to your level, “You okay?” She asks softly, reaching towards you to trace the marks on your hips. Her gentleness confuses you, when she bullied you in high school she would’ve just let you fall to the floor and leave you to deal with the aftermath.

“I-I think so…” You mumble.

She reaches up and cups your cheek, “Can I finger you?” She looks down at your red puffy cunt, licking her lips as she imagines you mewling for her as she stuffs your cunt. 

“I…No one has ever…y’know…touched me like that before…” You explain shamefully.

“I wanna make you cum, loser. Wanna feel your cunt clench around my fingers.”

You look up at Ellie with glassy eyes, whining at the thought, “Why?”

Ellie looks down, her cheeks turning red, “Because I think you’re hot…and I’ve been wanting this for years…”

“You have?” You ask, brows furrowed as you scan her face for any hint of a lie.

“Yeah…I…I like how you sound when I torture your pretty pussy, wanna make it feel good this time, wanna reward you for how you took that wedgie.”

You think it over for a minute before you nod, “I want your fingers inside of me, please.”

“You want it on the bed, baby girl?” She asks, nodding her head towards the bed of whatever poor boys room you two have only just begun to desecrate. 

“Yeah. Can you untie me too please,” you ask softly, lifting your restrained hands behind your back.

“Oh shit, I forgot I even did that. Let me get that off you,” Ellie helps turn you around and removes the belt restraining your hands and slips it back onto her jeans. She takes your wrists in her hands to check for marks, “They should only be a little sore…I’d wear long sleeves till the marks go away unless you feel like coming up with a story about how they got like that.”

You nod and let her help you onto the bed, you wince in pain as you sit on the bed, the soreness in your ass already kicking in.

Ellie tilts her head and leans towards you, looking down at your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, wetting your lips with your tongue. She leans in and presses her lips to yours, kissing you softer than you could’ve ever imagined from her. There’s a masochistic part of you that had always had a crush on Ellie, you had dreams of her fingering you, eating you out, hell even taking you on dates. But you had never imagined she’d really kiss you, especially not like this. You kiss her back and are quick to deepen the kiss, Ellie smirks against your lips at your eagerness and pulls you into her lap, spreading your legs and cupping your cunt. She uses you gasping at the sudden contact to slip her tongue into your mouth and you moan into her mouth once she starts to massage your clit. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you beg the universe to not let you cum before she can even get her fingers inside of you. 

She pulls away from your lips, a trail of saliva still connecting them as she moves her mouth down to your neck. She presses a kiss below your ear and whispers, “Gonna take off your shirt baby, wanna suck those pretty tits.”

That alone is enough to make you grip her hair tightly and whine. You help her remove your shirt and she’s quick to remove your bra as well, beginning to trail kisses down your neck. “You’re so fucking pretty, got perfect tits…for a loser…” She snickers. 

This time it doesn’t feel malicious, it makes your clit twitch and your breath hitch. 

“You like when I’m mean to you, don’t you? Bet you’d go home after school everyday and play with that pretty pussy of yours and think about what I did to you…Bet it got you wet once I got everyone calling you wedgie girl…” Ellie smirks at you, admiring the embarrassed expression on your face.

“Shut up…” You giggle.

She smiles and starts to leave hickeys on your neck and collarbones, drawing whines and whimpers out of you with ease. She pulls back to admire her work, “I’d suggest you invest in a turtleneck, sweetheart,” she chuckles.

“Shit…what’s my roommate gonna say?” You mutter, brushing your hair out of your face as you try and think of an excuse to give Seline.

“Are you with her or something?” Ellie asks.

You shake your head no, “God no…she just knows I haven’t done anything like this before…never came back to our dorm with a hickey before either.”

“You’re so innocent it’s fucking adorable,” Ellie says, leaning forward and kissing you again. She pulls away and leans down to press kisses to your tits, nibbling slightly here and there, making you whine once she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, tweaking the other with her hand. “Fuck…Ellie…” you whine, tilting your head back as she worships your tits.

She trails a hand down to your cunt, slapping it lightly, making you yelp. She laughs softly and presses her ring and middle finger against your folds, swiping up some of your slick and bringing her fingers up to her mouth to taste you. She takes her fingers into her mouth and sucks your slick off, moaning at the taste, “You taste as good as you look, sweet girl.”

She leans forward to kiss you and slowly slips two fingers inside of you, you gasp against her lips and buck your hips forward. “Oh fuck…”

“I haven’t even started baby,” she laughs. She begins to pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, whispering praises to you as she brushes her thumb against your cunt. She bites her lip as you whine her name, reaching out to grip the bed sheets. “You’re so tight, bet you’ve been needing this huh…”

“Y-Yes mommy, needed it so bad,” you mumble, too engrossed in your own pleasure to truly realize the words leaving your lips. 

Ellie stops and tilts her head, looking at you with her jaw dropped, “Did you…did you just call me mommy?”

“Fuck…I-I’m so sorry, it just sli-” Ellie cuts you off by resuming her pace, speeding up her movements quickly to make you fall apart.

“Tell mommy how fucking good it feels,” Ellie commands. 

You’re quick to follow her orders, muttering pathetically about how good she’s making you feel. “Mommy…I fucking…I’m so close, need to…”

“Need to cum, don’t you pretty girl? Gonna make you cum, gonna make my pretty baby make a mess all over my lap.” Ellie curves her fingers inside you, hitting right where you need until it sends you over the edge. You let out a string of moans as you collapse forward onto Ellie, burying your face in her neck and you moan incoherently. Ellie works you through your orgasm, rubbing your back whispering praises as you come down. She sucks your juices off her fingers, continuing to rub your back and praise you as you catch your breath.

“Fuck…thank you…” You whisper, your head still buried in the crook of her neck.

Ellie smiles and pulls you close to her, “Anytime, loser.”

You roll your eyes and giggle, the word no longer feels hurtful but instead playful. Ellie pulls you off her lap and grabs your ripped panties off the floor, using them to clean you up. “These are coming home with me,” Ellie says, holding the ripped fabric up in front of your face.

You try to snatch them away from her but she’s quicker than you, stuffing them in her back pocket. “Nuh uh, these are mine now, loser. Need something to help me get off when I think about this again.”

She helps you redress and tries to help fix your hair and smudged makeup, it’s all futile thanks to the hickeys she decorated your neck and collarbones with. “You know it’s pretty dark out there, I doubt anyone will notice,” Ellie says, motioning to your hickeys.

You roll your eyes and give her a look that says ‘really?’ “Ellie, these are impossible to miss, my roommate is never gonna let me live it down.”

“I can’t help that I’m so good at humiliating you,” Ellie giggles, wrapping her arms around your waist, nuzzling her face into your neck.

“Shut up and take me back to my dorm,” you say playfully, nudging her with your head.

“Round two?” She asks hopefully.

“I’ll consider it…”

[yawnderu]

Lamb of God — Nikto x Medic!Reader | Part I

Shot, stabbed, beaten... Mikhail has been through hell countless times, yet no amount of training or experience from years in Spetsnaz could ever prepare him for what Victor Zakhaev did to him. 8 missing nails, multiple new wounds on his already scarred body, and a face so disfigured he could no longer recognize himself— not only was his body broken, but so was his psyche.

His first visit was with the medics, wounds in desperate need of cleaning even with infection starting to set in most of them, the chemical burns on his face already blistering and itching despite being scolded by the medic multiple times for scratching himself. He was a difficult patient to say the least— not wanting anyone to touch his injuries or even look at him, only accepting treatment from the only person who dared confront him.

“'Stop that.” Your request comes in a sharp tone, not wanting him to itch his blistering injuries and make the scarring worse than what you knew it would be. A mumbled ''don't tell me what to do'' makes its way to your ears, though you decide to ignore it when he puts his hands way, adhesive bandages decorating his fingers where the nails had been ripped off.

“Sit up for me.” The man is an aggressive dog that defends himself with fangs bared, yet he somehow listens to your commands— even when he scoffs or grumbles before finally doing what you ask. Your gloved hand goes to his chin as you examine the red skin on his face, noting it was washed when he was first rescued, no residue of the acid left. He mumbles something and you raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Is it gross?” His deep voice asks, accent even rougher with the raw emotion he's feeling. He knows for a fact it's gross, he saw it himself— he has blisters covering over half of his face, still remembering the acid dripping down his face from Zakhaev simply wanting to cause him pain.

“I've seen worse— at least you still have a face.” Being a medic for the military allowed you to see both human cruelty, and the extends injuries could go. You've seen multiple soldiers missing their face, skin pulled and bones poking out of their bodies— Mikhail's injuries aren't the worst you've seen, not even close.

“Your nose doesn't look too weird either, even when I was told it was broken. Your eyes still work, all your limbs are still attached... you'll recover from everything in no time.” You try to keep a positive attitude despite the way his baby blue eyes are staring holes into your head, pupils looking tiny despite the dim light in the room.

“I'm mostly worried about what's going on here.” You tap his head softly and he doesn't take long on pushing your hand away softly, a small smile making way to your lips when you notice how he avoids eye contact for a second before he's back to staring at you. You stare back for a while, trying to decipher what he's feeling before going to grab a cloth, filling a small bucket with cold water and making your way back to him.

“This might hurt a little bit, let me know if you want me to stop and we can take a break.” He looks down at the bucket of water and the cloth you're dipping in, squeezing the excess water as you wait for his approval. He gives you a nod in affirmation, flinching slightly as the cold cloth makes contact with his face. It doesn't hurt as much as he imagined— if anything, it feels almost soothing, the previous ache and itchiness disappearing even if only for a very short while.

“Заканчивай быстрее с этой хернëй.” He mutters under his breath despite how good it actually feels on his injuries, not wanting to get any pity from you.

“Be patient.” It almost feels like he's getting scolded by his nana, faint memories of the old woman cleaning his scrapped knees come to mind, holding onto them to try and stop the bad thoughts from flooding his damaged brain.

“Mikhail.” Your soft voice slowly brings him back to reality, feeling an odd sensation all over his face. His hand goes up to feel his cheeks, only now realizing that you already dressed his wounds. He looks utterly confused, not even remembering you getting gauze, everything happening too suddenly. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember most of the heli flight back home, too busy thinking about... what was he even thinking about?

“Mikhail.” You repeat, one of your gloved hands going to his shoulder in attempts to make him look at you. He's still staring blankly at the floor, just as he has been doing for the past 20 minutes, not responding to his own name.

“Quiet, I hear enough voices.” He brushes you off, finally getting up from the medical bed and quickly leaving your office despite the small limp from the beatings he took for days.

He hears voices? His next stop will have to be with the provided psychiatrist once his body recovers a little bit to test if he's still fit to be part of Spetsnaz, leaving your heart filled with worry until you move onto the next patient, making a mental note to check on him later.

A/N: Mikhail is Nikto's name in this fic, the person he used to be before turning into Никто.

[loves1ckmoth]

LOYAL SERVANT

Cassandra Kiramman x Servant!Reader

Warnings ♡: fem!reader, they kiss, probably ooc, reader helps her change and puts makeup on her, reader refers to her as mistress, petnames used by Cassandra (darling, my girl, doll, dearest), implied relationship/intimacy

Word count ♡: 643

“Darling, would you mind getting my dress for the night?” Cassandra’s voice is soft as she speaks to you. “Yes, Mistress.” You say softly in response. Her dress for tonight is a gorgeous blue, displaying her family colors. She stands in front of the mirror, pulling at and inspecting her skin.

Once you’re behind her smiles and turns to face you. “Perfect. Help me put it on, will you?” She says as she begins to remove her clothes. You look away, feeling a flush creep up your neck. No matter how many times you help her with her clothes, it’s still embarrassing to see her like this.

You help slip her dress over her head, gently pulling it down her body until it sits properly on her. “It’s not as snug as I’d like it to be, but it fits fine, " she says, smoothing it out as you zip up the back.

She goes to sit over at her vanity once everything is in place on her dress, and like an obedient puppy, you follow her over. The light from the open curtains and evening sun allows enough lighting without having to use the built-in ones on her vanity.

“I think tonight we’ll just do a little blue on the lids and some rouge on the lips and cheeks.” She says softly as you pull out the brushes. She turns in her chair to face you as you apply her makeup. It’s intimate, and her teasing stares don’t help. “You’re flushed, my girl. Embarrassed after all this time? After everything we’ve done together? Don’t be.”

Your blush gets even worse and she smiles deviously. “Poor girl… Would a kiss make you feel better?” She goads you, leaning forward into you. Her lips are soft from her lipstick as they brush against yours, and even softer when she presses them into yours. They beckon you closer and the whimper that builds up in your throat is hard to conceal.

When she pulls away, she smiles even wider. “Come on, you’ve still got work to do.” You try to refocus and help her finish her makeup, but it’s still hard to not linger on her featherlight touches and sly smirks. “Your makeup is done, mistress.”

She hums smoothly and turns to look at herself. “Perfect. You’ve outdone yourself this time. Surprising especially with how distracted you were.” You nod and help her stand. “You still need some jewelry.” You murmur while digging through the drawers of her vanity to find something suiting for her attire. You gingerly pull out a pearl necklace and chandelier earrings. She nods in approval and raises her head to make it easier to put the jewelry on her.

“Doll, you’ve outdone yourself this time.” She says as she gazes in the mirror and pulls on her heels. “You’ll keep the house safe while I’m away, won’t you?” You nod. You remember all the rules. Don’t answer the door for anyone but her, continue your daily tasks until she comes home, and stay out of the bedrooms for privacy purposes.

As she's heading out the door, the small hole in your uniform catches on the door handle and she frowns. “Your uniform is so old and tattered. We must get you a new one.” She looks you over and takes the material in her own hands.

“Such a horrible texture as well. Can’t be easy to work when you’re so itchy and uncomfortable. I’ll have a new one made for you by tomorrow, dearest. Until then, keep watch of the house. I’ll be back before midnight. Be good.” She kisses you goodbye and shuts the front doors. Your hands lie against your front, and a strange feeling of sadness fills you as the silence of the empty house continually imposes upon you. But you trust she’ll be home when she promised.

Hi, everyone!! Thank you so much for all the attention on my last one!! I woke up to over 30 notes on it after posting it before bed and was shocked. My jaw DROPPED when I came back in the afternoon to find it at over 60!! This type of interaction really keeps me going and gives me the motivation I need. Thank you all ♡♡ Reblogs and likes are the most appreciated ♡

[bamboozledcorvid]

Head Canons for my favourite Neurodivergent X-men characters (I don’t think any of them are confirmed neurodivergent)

Scott Summers: (ASD)

- NEEDS schedules for daily life, he can be thrown into battle and adapt his plans to save everyone but if u ask him to go to the shop he needs a list; which shop, when it’s open, what is he buying, how he’s getting there and back.

- very particular about his things, no one can touch his things without setting him into a frenzy. He tries to remain calm and avoid having a meltdown but will be in an awful mood and semi verbal until the issue is resolved.

- Textures are bad. He hates anything that feels wet, sticky or slimy. He can’t handle it at all and he’s hopes none of his enemies ever find out because it’s the worst physical torture he can think of.

- If he’s focused or obsessed on something it becomes the only thing that matters to him. He won’t eat, he won’t sleep, he won’t talk to anyone until he’s completed what he has to do.

- special interests are war, heroes and his wife. It’s all he talks about, he is only interested in talking to you if it’s about battle strategies, fighting techniques, or Jean Grey.

- info dumps about unpleasant or inappropriate topics and can’t understand why people don’t want to talk about it or will tell him to shut up. He’s also seen as ‘blunt’ and ‘rude’ because he’s overly honest.

Pietro/Peter Maximoff: (ASD/ADHD/DYSLEXIA)

- Physically vibrates when he stims, he’s a leg bouncer and an arm flapper but at an insane speed, he’s burnt holes in carpets with his leg bouncing.

- despite how fast his hands move his mind still moves faster so his writing and spelling are all over the place because even he can’t keep track of his thoughts. Will often miss letters or completely skip a few words. (This also applies to his reading skills).

- safe foods consist mainly of sugary snacks and sweets. If he’s overstimulated (which he usually is) or if he’s had a stressful had he can only eat safe foods, any attempt to get real food into him only makes his mood worse and snacks are better than nothing.

- very particular about his clothes, he can’t have tags or itchy hems and he definitely can’t have anything that sits wrong when he’s running. Has been the victim of extreme carpet burn due to trying to run in unsuitable clothes just because they had a nice texture.

- either talks to fast and no one can understand him or simply doesn’t talk at all. Despite how loud and talkative he seems he’s used to the silence because no one can keep up with him (physically or mentally) because he moves to fast. So if a conversation is particularly slow and boring he’ll just leave. He’d rather be in silence than be bored.

[polyjacketpockets]

little jackie hcs

pre-crash canon compliant headcanons

tags: sfw agere, boyre, autism agere, hints of petre, masking, comphet, agere jackie, she/he pronouns, caregiver shauna

tws: mommy issues & implications of addiction

childhood

jacqueline taylor is her mother's doll, trussed up into girlish dresses. growing up, she learnt quickly to bend to her mother's whims with a smile. arguing just made things worse, there was no point, especially when her mother had too many uppers/wine and got hysterical.

going over to the shipmans jackie was always jealous of the amount of freedom shauna's mom gave her. shauna was allowed to wear boys clothes, bring in wriggly worms and she got barely a scolding for drawing scary pictures. it wasn't fair! jackie often told shauna off for acting bad bc someone had to!

jacqueline grew up going to country clubs filled with gossip. every move, every outfit was analysed, beauty and purity was a necessity of being loved. slipping up was a one-way ticket to being an isolated, unloveable creature.

the only time within those country club walls jackie felt like herself was when lottie would come from new york, becoming more frequent when she moved to new jersey for good. lottie knew all the best hiding spots, so they'd hide together and whisper to each other until jacqueline's mother would find them.

the first time jackie showed shauna pictures of her at the country club, shauna laughed and bluntly asked, "were you constipated or something? you look uncomfortable, jax, like in literal pain." jackie would laugh it off like she had no clue what shauna was talking about.

jacqueline never truly had a childhood of her own.

teenhood & agere

the first drop jackie ever had was after her first date with jeff. her body felt wrong throughout the whole date and when she got home her mom asked her all sorts of questions that made her feel itchy. running up the stairs, jackie called shauna immediately blurting out, "mama." embarassment set in, hanging up before shauna could answer and rolling over to cry himself to sleep.

except, shauna didn't let it go, climbing in through her bedroom window later that night. "jax?" she asked, gently. the only answer was a sniffle. shauna wrapped jackie in her arms, filled with questions but not wanting to overwhelm her. "mama's right here," she muttered, a little unsure. it seemed to be the right thing to say, jax's breathing slowed, becoming less frantic.

they didn't talk about it in the morning, jackie refused to, face bright red. but when things got too much, too loud, too bright, too icky, too big, shauna was her first call and she'd come over for an impromptu sleepover, sneaking out in the morning. neither of them really knew exactly what it was, shauna just knew jackie needed it, even if she would never admit it.

it's not like shauna minded, with the start of high school she'd missed her best friend being all hers. slowly, shauna started to learn more (jax didn't speak much, so she picked things up through experience): jax loved fruit, he was a little fruit bat, jax didn't like when the lights were on, jax clawed at the dresses he came in, jax liked her flannels, jax followed shauna around everywhere she went like a puppy, jax liked playing farm games and making animal noises. the biggest thing, was that jax would cry and cry and cry, over anything, all the time, the only thing that calmed him down was shauna's cuddles.

"sometimes i find myself missing jax when jackie is i don't know big? jackie is so uptight, i can't escape how stiff she is now i've seen her free and honest. i just don't understand why jackie won't tell me when she's big, i know the lights affect her, i can tell. why won't she just fucking talk to me? does she think i don't know? i'm not stupid," shauna would write in her journal.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Prompts 1, 2, 8, and 10 with Brahms

And with most of the prompts done with Jason, at least with the current list, its time to move on to the next slasher.. need to rewatch the boy. Loved the first movie, second movie almost killed my joy for it. Idk what it was I just. Did not like the 2nd movie

MUTUAL PINING

ONE BED TROPE

Crawls into bed with you, very casually. He might ask first, if hes feeling polite.. but most of the time he doesnt. Expects cuddles, so you better at least snuggle into his back. Warm, very warm. Hairy, though, so a little itchy. Is not a morning person, will try to keep you in bed for as long as possible until finally letting you get a start on your chores for the day. If you let him sleep with you once it quickly turns into him sleeping with you a few times a week

SICK

He is sooo.... needy when hes sick. More so than he already is, hes going to be stuck in bed. It's going to take some convincing to get him to stay in one of the beds inside the house instead of staying his in his "bedroom"... just for easier access to him. Constantly asks for you to come see him because hes bored and just wants a distraction from the terrible pressure in his sinuses. Reluctant to let you go out to town to pick up medicine and soup, but ultimately let's you go because the discomfort is just so much. Gets genuinely upset when the things you get him dont immediately help relieve his symptoms.. HAAAAATES when one side of his nose is stuffy and the other isnt. Terrible sensory feeling, I'll tell you that. Even worse if it happens to your ears

You both have crushes on each other! Brahms probably already knows, if you've written it down somewhere in a journal. Hes either snooped or watched you write it. Does that still count as snooping..? He lets the fact that you like him back get to his head, prompting him to tease you a little more and be more bold just to get a reaction out of you and make you spend even more time with him, or just to see you turn red. You notice that behavior, he wants your attention more than ever now and even slinks out of the walls to spend time with you.. and oddly enough he seems jealous of the doll, sometimes putting it to the side so he can be the one taken care of

SHARING CLOTHES

He steals your clothes literally all of the time. It doesn't matter that he very likely can't fit into him (hes a pretty big dude! The actor is 6'3!) He just likes having your stuff around in his space because it brings him comfort. Just.. try not to get mad, it's only going to either make him double down or give you the cold shoulder.. on a similar note hes probably going to steal your body sprays, either snagging a few sprays for himself or taking the entire bottle

[howlingday]

Prompt Idea: Pyrrha is feeling real sad and her teammates find her so they decide to lay down on the grass with her to help her feel better. (It works)

"Haaah..."

"Everything okay, Pyrrha?"

"It's nothing." It was a lot of things. The recent flux of difficult assignments as a result of their graduation from first years to second. The fact Jaune was still hesitant to kiss her after they'd made themselves official. Her occasional flashbacks to that night of the Vytal Tournament. She was lucky to survive, if only with the help of her sister team's leader having a magical trump card to scare off Cinder Fall, who was still out there. In a way, it was all those things. "I promise."

"You'd even give your word on it?" Jaune asked with a raised brow. Damn! Caught! She could lie and give her word, but she saw angry Jaune got when Cardin broke his word when he started messing with Ruby. She didn't want that. At least not directed at her. "Pyrrha?"

"I... can't. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Pyrrha. We're here for you." Looking across the room where Ren sat on his bed. "All of us. Right, Ren?"

"Yes." He nodded. "And Nora would agree if she were here."

"If who was what?" Nora entered, carrying a basket and a large blanket. "Sorry, I was busy planning a surprise!"

"Is the surprise a picnic?" Jaune asked.

"Well, since you spoiled it," she dropped the heavier than they look items onto him, making their leader sink into his bed, "YOU get to plan it!"

"A picnic doesn't sound like a bad idea." Ren looked to Pyrrha. "Maybe some fresh air will help you feel better."

"Oh, are you sick, Pyrrha?" Nora began lifting Pyrrha's arms, gently tugging at fingers as she did. "You didn't break anything, did you?"

"No, Nora." Pyrrha chuckled. "And maybe you're right, Ren. Maybe a picnic would help me."

--------------------------------------------------

It did not help at all. If anything, Pyrrha felt worse than before because now she was itchy and picking bugs out of places she never had before! She and Nora had to check each other's more "intimate" parts, same with Ren and Jaune, and Nora was probably a lot more rough than Ren or Jaune were to each other.

And if ticks weren't the worst of it, the discovery of ringworm on the soles of their feet definitely filled that gap. Everyone's feet were so itchy, it was one of the few times she was grateful to still have her connections from her competitive days. Same-day delivery to the rescue, as Nora put it.

"Never again! Never again!" The pink girl shouted as she scratched a bug bite that wouldn't go away. "There's a reason kids don't touch grass anymore!"

"It's not that bad." Ren said. "Just don't think about it." He sat quietly for a moment before reaching to his arm. His other hand slapped it away, unwittingly striking where a bug bite was located. He started rubbing his sore hand, then scratching it.

"Well, bug bites aside," Jaune came in from the bathroom, new set of clothing on, "I'd say it was a pretty good day."

"Really?" His team asked in unison.

"Uh, well, we had fun until the bugs, right?"

"And the itching?" Ren asked, moving from scratching his hand to scratching his arm.

"And the bugs on my-"

"Yeah!" Jaune held out his hands, shutting his eyes and looking away. "Yeah, all of that." He opened his eyes to see Pyrrha looking at him. "Did you have fun, Pyrrha?"

"I... I did." She nodded. "And while I won't say I'm going to look back on this part of the experience with fond memories, it was nice to sit in the grass with you." He returned the smile she gave him.

"I'm gonna take the laundry downstairs." He explained as he walked past the self-scratching Ren and Nora and pulled the soap from the closet. "Anyone mind keeping me company?"

"I don't mind at all." Pyrrha slid off her bed. "Especially since this is partly my fault."

"Partly?" Nora asked with a quirked brow. She received narrowed brows in return. "Okay, yeah, partly."

"Nobody blames you, Pyrrha. If anyone should be blamed, it should be me for planning this picnic thing."

"Wait, didn't Nora-" Ren was hushed by Nora, who slapped her hands over his mouth.

"Yup! Jaune did it!" She exclaimed. She then flinched as Ren grabbed her wrists, right on her bug bite.

"I grew up pretty close to a field. I should've known better."

"That's very sweet of you to say, Jaune, but it was my... slump that drove us out there."

"Actually, it was the bullhead pilot who drove us." Jaune corrected. "And we were already planning to go outside for a while. We've been cooped up, dealing with all our homework, so I brought up the idea that we should have a day out to Nora and she went grabbed everything for the trip. Right, Nora?"

The girl didn't respond as she and Ren had engaged in an odd game that took the term 'scratching my back' too literally. Her fingers dug into Ren's back while the long-haired boy began scraping up and down her sides, sliding to below her beltline. They both made uncomfortable to hear sounds for the official couple.

"Uh, so, laundry?" Pyrrha asked with a blush.

"Yeah, and maybe some cold water for these two." Jaune mumbled as he took hold of the laundry basket.

"Oh, and Jaune?"

"Yeah, Pyr-" She pressed her lips to his, following her as she pulled away. "Th-Thanks, Pyrrha."

"You're welcome, Jaune."

All in all, it was a pretty good day.

[bagopucks]

A. Matthews - Mean Words Hurt People

✄————————————

Auston Matthews x Fem!reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning(s): none! Just light angst.

—————————————

“Hudson just take the pills.”

“No!”

“Hudson please! They’ll help.”

“No! Go away! I can’t do it, I hate you!”

It had been an awfully stressful week. Auston and I were both feeling the irritability. With the second round knock out, I was patient. I assumed he might need time alone or with his team, and it was time I was willing to grant. What I hadn’t expected was for him to dive headfirst into the fire. I worried that we never got time to discuss it or that he never got time to cope with it, but at the same time I wondered if Auston coping was spending time planning our wedding and being a father to Auston. I always wanted to ask, but I never wanted to overstep my boundaries.

Until it came to hell week. Hudson’s allergies had been horrible. I worked overtime almost every night, and Auston was left with most of the work. It was bumpy, sure, but even if it had been myself and Hudson, I knew it still would have been bumpy. Hudson was tired and cranky, and stuffy and itchy and miserable. Auston was miserable navigating everything, trying to keep the kid happy, trying to make him take his pills, trying to find ways to entertain him. I felt horrible coming home each night, some worse than others. Some more peaceful than expected.

Some days Auston would be out cold on the couch, his clothes a mess, his hair pulled up, exhaustion laced in his furrowed brow. Other days I could hear the screaming and fussing from Hudson well before I even got up the front porch steps.

Hudson’s allergies and attitude couldn’t have come at a worse time. Halloween was around the corner and I had so many plans as to how I wanted to share it with Auston and Hudson. The last thing I wanted was for my miserable and moody kid to put those on the back burner. Especially because it was a chance to go out and have some family fun. Even if we hadn’t been the most stable of families recently.

I reminded Auston to be patient, but it was never really him that seemed ready to give up. Sure he got overworked, sure he was as miserable as Hudson, and as lost, but not once had he turned to me and told me he couldn’t do it. Until the night I came home to quite the tense scene. Auston sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Toys were everywhere, Hudson was nowhere. He looked a mess. He looked exhausted. And when he looked up at me and told me he needed a break, I couldn’t get mad. I understood. When Hudson had spells like these, I often found backup was the best way to handle it.

“Was it worse today?” I asked softly as I closed the door, assuming Hudson was asleep.

“I stopped asking myself that a while ago.”

“I’m really sorry, hun.” I sat down next to him on the couch, gentle as I rested my hand on his back.

“I don’t know what his problem is.” The tension in his voice was something foreign to me. Auston was usually so collected and relaxed.

“It’s just his allergies. He just doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so miserable, and why it won’t go away. Just give him time.”

“I really need a break.” A piece of me wanted to tell him parenthood is a full time job. But I couldn’t, because while I knew it was a full time job, I liked my vacation days. And the perfect babysitter came in the form of my mother.

“Maybe Hudson needs a few days with grandma.”

“You think?” I pulled back at the tension in his tone. “I’m sorry.” Auston was quick to apologize, running his hands through his hair and sitting back. When I finally got a good look at his face, I raised a brow. There was more than just exhaustion in his features.

“Did Hudson say something to you?”

“What?” I watched Auston’s deep brown eyes meet my own. “No.”

“Aus. Did something happen?” I quickly placed my hand on his thigh.

“No. Okay? It’s fine. I just- I’d like to go home… alone- to sleep in my bed. With my dog.”

“Okay… okay if that’s what you need. Auston, just- I’m here for you. Okay?”

Auston stood up, and I watched him walk toward the door. For reasons I didn’t understand, he was more than overworked. He didn’t seem interested in sharing, but I assumed a full night of rest would help. “Drive safe, okay?” I watched him nod as he put his shoes on, and I locked the door behind him after he left. I hoped to delve deeper into the issue when Hudson awoke in the morning.

“Hey sweetie.” I spoke from the stovetop, cooking a few eggs for Hudson to eat for breakfast. I watched the boy peek around the kitchen and dining area before he padded off into the living room. When he returned, he came to my side and hugged my leg. “Sleep well?”

“Okay.” His distant and somber tone made me sigh. Both of my boys were anything but happy. It hurt knowing I could do nothing to help either.

“We have to talk, okay?” I watched his big eyes shoot up to my own. I wondered if he already knew what was on my mind. “Go sit. I’ll bring your plate over.” And I did just that. Once I finished cooking the eggs, I put them on a small plate and grabbed a fork, carrying the items over to set them down on the table. I pulled my chair out across from Hudson. The lack of Auston at our table was oddly unsettling. We’d both grown used to his presence in the mornings.

“Auston‘s really stressed.” The mention of the man lost my son’s interest. His eyes didn’t lift from his plate. “You’re not making things easy, hun. And I understand your allergies are killing you, but that doesn’t give you any right to be difficult or mean.”

Hudson dropped his fork on his plate, looking down at his lap.

“Have you been mean?” I leaned forward slightly, listening in the silence. Listening until I heard a quiet sniff. “Hudson?”

“I didn’t mean it.” His broken tone made me raise a brow.

“Honey, what didn’t you mean?”

“Did I make him leave? I didn’t want him to leave. Is it my fault?” His questions made me shoot up from my chair to cross the table, kneeling on the floor by Hudson.

“Honey.” I spoke in a stern yet soothing tone, reaching upwards to cup his tear stained cheeks. “Hudson you could never scare Auston off. He loves you.” I cooed.

“I’m so sorry, momma… I didn’t mean it!” Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, mistakes had been made, and i finally understood the issue. An issue I never should have left Auston alone with. “I don’t really hate him… I didn’t mean it.”

“Hudson, why would you say that?”

“I didn’t mean it, momma.” His quiet cries turned into sobs.

“Shhh.. okay honey.” I rubbed my son’s head, my heart hurting for both Auston and Hudson. They both needed comfort I wish I could have provided sooner.

“I don’t hate him.” Hudson whispered in a broken tone.

“I bet Auston would like to know that.”

“Not if he’s mad at me.” I shook my head.

“He still loves you, honey.” I wiped his tears one last time. “You just need to apologize.”

From day one, Auston’s mind had been plagued with worries. What if he wasn’t good enough? Or what if he couldn’t be a good father? What if he wasn’t cut out for all the responsibilities, or he couldn’t be a good role model? He never actually prepared himself for the day the kid he’d worked so hard to earn the favor of, would say he hated him. Auston had been floored when Hudson screamed it across the house. It was worse than any pain he’d ever felt before. It was the last thing he’d wanted. And he didn’t know how to tell me. I couldn’t blame him. Because it was a situation I didn’t actually understand. When I turned up with Hudson on his doorstep, a piece of me didn’t expect him to be home, but sure enough, Auston had opened the door just minutes after knocking. Felix stood at his feet, clearly oblivious to the situation, panting excitedly at the sight of Hudson. His best friend.

“Hey Aus.” I flashed the man a tender smile. Auston breathed a sigh that made his shoulders droop.

“Hey.. is everything okay?” Auston opened the door wider, an invite inside. I hesitantly stepped into the home, resting a hand on Auston’s hip and pressing a quick kiss to his chest.

“I came to check on you.. Hudson did too.”

“I was uh.. Felix needs to go on a walk.”

“Let me handle it.” I slid past Auston to grab the dog’s leash, calling Felix and kneeling to get him hooked up. “I’ll be back soon.”

I had faith in my boys making up. Despite the fact that Auston wasn’t Hudson’s father yet, I still knew that they had the ability to talk about their emotions and communicate well. They had never fought before… but I had faith they could apologize and move on.

“Mom,” Hudson called for me softly.

“I’ll be back soon, honey. I promise you’ll be okay.” I pressed a kiss to my son’s head before patting his back, and gently pushing him inside. “Fifteen minutes max. That’s how long I’ll be gone.” I reassured both boys before stepping out the door. Auston hesitated before shutting it behind me.

Was I worried? Sure. But again, I knew they’d be fine.

Auston shuffled his feet nervously for a moment before glancing back down the hallway. “You thirsty, bud?” He asked Hudson, the two making eye contact for the first time since their fight.

“A little.” Neither knew how to begin the conversation, so instead, Hudson and Auston walked down the hall and fetched two glasses of water, before settling in the living room on the couch.

“Your mom wants us to talk.. doesn’t she?” Auston took initiative, holding the cold glass of water between his hands.

“Yeah.” Hudson nodded, eyes examining his own water like a science experiment.

“I’m sorry your allergies have been so bad.” Auston slid a bit closer. “I know that stuff sucks. And I wish I could have been a better help.”

“Mom said we’re gonna see a doctor next week.” He paused. “She said they’re gonna give me something that should work better than the pills.”

“Hudson I was only trying to help.” Auston could barely handle dancing around the subject, so he decided to face it head on.

“I know.” Hudson’s little voice quivered.

“There’s nicer ways to treat the people trying to help you. And I understand if you had frustrations. It’s okay to have those, but there’s better way to communicate frustration than insults. Mean words hurt people.”

“I’m sorry,” Hudson whispered, peeking up at Auston, guilt in his sad features. “I don’t hate you.” The words took a huge weight off the shoulders of both boys. Auston let out a shaky sigh, and Hudson felt far less guilty than before. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.. Hudson it’s okay.” Auston set his glass of water down, reaching for Hudson, who slowly got up and climbed into his lap. Auston rubbed Hudson’s back while the boy sat with him, a mutual understanding between them that there was still love shared. Their relationship remained strong despite what had happened.

“You’re not mad?” Hudson pulled his head from Auston’s shoulder to look at the man.

“Nobody’s perfect, Hudsy. You’ll learn that as you grow up.. and you’ll make other mistakes. Just like I will. And that’s okay. It’s important that people have patience with one another… I’m not mad. I love you so much. Just do me a favor and try to communicate a little better in the future when you’re upset, okay?”

“You’ll help me.. right?”

“Absolutely.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 2

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Canon typical violence and the usual vampire stuff

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 2346

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 2

The cell was cold and sterile and lit far too brightly for Rose’s taste but lacked any natural light sources; under the circumstances, she was grateful for that.  She could feel dawn’s arrival nearing.  The urge to go to ground was clawing through her, making her skin itch and her teeth hurt.  Despite the fact she should be safe here, her body didn’t like being so far above ground without being encased with soil or a coffin.

When Captain America had caught her, she’d pleaded to be put somewhere dark.  The spinal injury had kept her incapacitated for hours, yet even still when he came close to her to help put her on a gurney, she’d tried to compel him to let her go.  There had been some device blocking her will, and she’d realized that the Avengers must have developed some technology to block psychic attacks.  Likely due to the witch in their company.   Not only had Steve Rogers been unaffected by her powers, but he’d been aware that she’d been using them and warned the crew that brought her to the Tower that she would attempt to use them.

They had unnecessarily treated her injuries and placed her in this metal cell lying flat out on a hospital bed.  When the feeling came back to her feet she’d gotten up and looked for a way out, and now that dawn was approaching she knew if she wasn’t able to compel anyone to let her go soon, she’d be unconscious and helpless in the midst of superheroes.

For a while she crouched by the door, hoping to ambush anyone that might come to check on her.  They might be impervious to compulsion, but they weren’t to being turned.  When it was clear that no one was coming, she tore the mattress and the blankets from the gurney and pushed the mattress under the metal bench that ran along the side of the room.  She hung the blankets over the side of the bench and crawled in.  It wasn’t ideal, but it stopped the itchy feeling from bothering her as she fell into unconsciousness.

Rose didn’t fall asleep or wake up like humans did.  She was awake and then she wasn’t.  It wasn’t even sleep in the way a human would experience it.  To any layman, the lack of heartbeat, brain activity, or breathing would indicate she was dead.  She didn’t react to external stimuli in any way.  If someone chose to take that moment to stake her through the heart, she would jerk up as the stake entered her, and then crumble into dust.

When she regained consciousness, it wasn’t slow or gradual.  She didn’t feel tired.  She was just awake where before she was not.

It took her a second to realize that she was no longer under the bench she’d hidden in, but now in a metal box.  She was much colder than normal, but it didn’t bother her.  What bothered her was that she was locked in a mortuary fridge.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, once she’d hidden in one herself, but she knew they were nigh on impossible to break out of once you were in one.  It was strange though, despite her predicament, she was relieved.  She was relieved they hadn’t tried to do an autopsy on her.  She was relieved that whatever path they’d taken from her cell to the morgue, she hadn’t passed through sunlight.  She also seemed to be in most of her clothes.  Her shoes and socks were gone, as were her sunglasses and jacket, but she still wore the palazzo pants and turtleneck she’d been wearing last night.  It could definitely be worse.

She began to kick at the door beneath her feet, hoping to any god that might care about her, that she’d be able to break the hinge off the door.

After two kicks the door swung open and the drawer was pulled out, and she was face to face with Steve Rogers once more.  “Why did you lock me in there!” she shouted, pushing herself up and jumping down from the drawer.  She didn’t try to run.  Not yet anyway.  She knew if he had been waiting here with her, he must know what she was, so if she attempted to escape there would be something to take her out.  It was better to bide her time and look for the best exit.

“You were dead,” he said.  “That’s where we put dead people.”

“And you just hang out in morgues for fun, do you?” she hissed.

“I had my suspicions,” he answered.  “They found you dead, but you’d managed to pull a gurney apart despite having a spinal injury that left you paralyzed the last time I saw you.  There was footage from the security tapes of things being tossed around, but you were nowhere to be seen.  When I went in to speak with you, you were under a bench in what looked like a fort, and there were no signs of life.  They wanted to do an autopsy.  I told them to wait until tomorrow.  So tell me - what are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“See that’s the thing,” Steve said, taking a seat on one of the tall metal stools at the autopsy table.  “I thought vampires were fictional.”

“I thought Norse gods were fictional, and then there were two smashing up my city,” she said. “The universe is big.  Maybe all fiction has a piece of reality in it.”

“Still,” he said.  “Thor was living on another planet.  I’ve been on this one for quite a while now, you’d think I would have come across one of you before.”

She stalked toward him.  Her bare feet padded along the cool steel floor.  “What do you want me to do?  Prove it to you?”

She moved lightning fast, one hand going to his hair and the other to his neck as she shoved him up against the table.  She yanked his head back and bared her fangs.  “I wonder what a supersoldier’s blood tastes like.  Do you think that serum will make me even stronger?  Maybe I’ll turn you.  That might get me out of here safely, Captain.” 

She didn’t mean anything she said.  It was all for show.  She’d never turned anyone, and she didn’t want to start now.  But he obviously wanted something from her and she wanted to see what he’d do.  She leaned in pressing her fangs against his skin, just above the carotid artery.  She could feel the blood pulsing through it under her teeth.  She could smell it.  There was something slightly different to the scent.  Something akin to ozone or smoke.  She didn’t have time to study it, as Steve reached up and pressed something to her collarbone, and it felt like her skin caught fire.  She scrambled back, hissing in pain, and moving as far away from him as possible.

Steve held up the crucifix he’d pressed against her skin.  To double down on the old mythos, it seemed to be made of silver.  “So it is true.”

“I told you it was,” she said.

“Those children, they said you saved them,” he said, putting the crucifix back into his pocket.

“I told you that too,” she said.

“I’m just trying to understand it,” he said.  “Why would you save those children when you’re … well -” he waved his hand at her, gesturing up and down her body.

“A bloodthirsty monster?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Steve agreed.

She sighed and leaned against the wall.  “I was human once.  I drink blood because I have to to survive.  That doesn’t mean I want to see children used as a human shield.”

Steve’s blue eyes moved up and down her body, assessing her, looking for any sign she was lying to him.  She folded her arms around her middle.  It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel this vulnerable.  Not since she’d been turned.

“Can I go?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “You still killed a man.”

“Oh, like you haven’t,” she spat.

“Of course I have,” he said.  “But never like that.  I try not to kill whenever possible.”

“Well, we can’t all be a perfect little golden boy,” she snarked.  “Can we at least not have this conversation in the goddamn morgue?”

“Sure,” Steve said.  “Follow me.”

He opened the door and she followed him back through the building to the elevator.  Her eyes darted around the space, trying to work out if there was a means of escape.  Steve was fast.  Fast enough to keep up with her if she ran.  Plus he was strong enough to match her hand-to-hand.  Then there was everyone else in the building.  If Thor was alerted, she didn’t think there would be anything she could do to survive an assault from him.  So she followed along placidly, hoping he’d show some mercy on her.

They caught the elevator up, Steve leaned against the wall and looked at her.  “You barely look eighteen,” Steve said.  “How old are you?”

“You barely look twenty-five, how old are you?” she asked.

Steve laughed.  “Touché.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I have never had to consider what to do in this situation.  You helped.  But the way you helped.  How many other people have you killed?  Are you going to kill again?”

“You can’t hold me for imagined future crimes,” Rose argued.  “And you can’t hold me without evidence of any past ones.  I thought you of all people should know that.”

He frowned and looked down at his hands.  She had gotten to him.  Not enough for him to let her go.  This wasn’t a case of a hypothetical danger to the world.  She was a monster and setting her free meant setting free a being that fed on humans.

The elevator opened and he gestured for her to go through.  Still, the perfect gentleman he was raised.  She walked through and he led her to his office, pulling out a chair at his desk for her to sit at.  When she was sitting he went to his chair and sat facing her.  The office was much more modern than she expected.  The desk was black formica and extremely polished, to the point that if she gave off a reflection she would have seen it on the surface.  It attached directly to cabinets that ran down the side of the room under the frosted windows that acted as a wall to his office.  There was a panel that, if activated, would create the holographic screen of his computer on the desk, as well as a keyboard and a landline phone.  The only personal objects in the room were a series of papers stuck to the glass above the shelves.  Among them were some pencil sketches on aged notebook paper, and what appeared to be his 4F forms.

“I fought in World War II, you know?” Rose said as she turned her attention back to Steve.

“On which side,” he asked suspiciously.

She laughed.  “It really bothers you to think I might not be evil, doesn’t it?  The Ally’s side.  I was there before you started fighting.  The US had a monster division.  Did you know that?”

He shook his head.  “I don’t even know if I can believe that,” he said.

“It’s true.  There were monsters on the other side too.  The monster hunters were sent after them, and we were told to take care of Hitler’s obsession with the mystic world,” she explained.

Steve sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.  It was hard when your whole worldview had come into question.

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said, opening up the holographic screen on his computer.  “What’s your name?”

“Rose.  Rose Astor.  Of the Manhattan Astors,” she said.

Steve raised an eyebrow and began to type something into the computer.  “I’ve heard of you.  The Astor’s daughter went missing around the time I was born.  My mom would always bring it up when I would go out to play and dad…” he trailed off.  “It doesn’t matter.  What happened to you?”

“This happened to me,” she said.  “It was the start of prohibition and I had reached the legal drinking age the year they banned drinking.  I went out to a speakeasy and a vampire got me.  He kept me with him for a while.  I got free and he returned to Europe.  I was glad to see the back of him.”

“So you’re from my time?” he asked. 

She smiled.  “A little older, but yes.  We were in the same city when you were growing up.  I’m sure we have a lot in common, Captain Rogers.  Possibly more than you do with your friends.  Well - aside from that one little thing.”

“It’s not that little,” he said.

“Ahh, yes,” she agreed.  “You signed up to have a foreign substance injected into you that made you superhuman.  I had it forced on me.  You get to go out in the sun.  I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “I’m sorry that happened to you.  And I’m sorry you’ve had to live like this.  But I don’t know if I can just let you go.  If you kill again, that blood will be on my hands.”

“So what?  You’re just going to hold me here forever as your prisoner?  You’re as bad as he is,” she said.

Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Maybe you could join the team.  Prove to us you aren’t a danger to the rest of the world.”

Rose sank back into her chair.  She hated this.  She was going to be a prisoner all over again being forced to do things she didn’t want to do.  There didn’t seem to be any choice.  She believed Steve Rogers was a good man.  Hopefully, he could prove that to her too.

// NEXT

[crying-fantasies]

Within you

Masterlist

If Sideswipe relationship with his human is based on "Take my breath away" then Sunstreaker's part of the story is based on this song (I still don't remember who started the whole "Streaker likes David Bowie" but the first blog I found talking about that was @rocksinmuffin if my memory is correct).

Within you and the whole Labyrinth movie was created before I was even born, first time watching it as almost a baby gave me the impression this song was centered in how the goblin king was mad at Sarah, maybe even hated her, again, I was a child, one very messed up by Disney and the idea of "married happily ever after", so imagine Amy flabbergasted face when my cousins translated the son for me, like "so he hated her this whole time and still wanted to marry her?".

Just to then hear him say "How you turn my world, you precious thing".

I didn't get it, nor David Bowie's acting, but then I watched it again as an adult after realizing my love for Henson's work back again, just to be smacked in the face by the whole deep meaning of a suffering man as Jareth, while not telling her that he loves her, still does tell how much it hurts him to love and court her (incorrectly, mind you because it's obvious Jareth is suffering to give the message) but don't have the very same love back for him.

Creativity crashed onto me while my niece was watching the labyrinth, asking myself if the brothers each should've a different lover, but with the fact of split sparks gave another deep meaning, of course everyone can love someone different, but the idea of twins courting the same interest seemed more interesting for me as many others did before (and also, two boyfriends).

Within you was the right decision for Sunny.

Sunstreaker affection for his human partner started from disgust because organic, of course, but Sunny, no matter what he says or how he acts, loves his brother, so if we want Sunstreaker to interact with a human then Sides needs to be in the picture.

It starts small, a little "oh, now he is bringing strays, great" that soon morphed to him smacking Sideswipe's helm when he almost dropped you "Do you want to clean organic insides from the floor?!" but still being very gentle by his own standard to grip your clothes and put you on a safe enough place, cleaning his digits afterwards as if you carried some disease, what an idiot.

Taking time he gets familiar with your presence, but then there is this itchy thing on his spark when he sees you, the itch keeps going, silent like a mouse surrounded by cats, but growing like mold, like a forgotten seed trying to catch a glimpse of sunlight, when it does, he makes double takes, going through the many levels of grief (because how could such a perfect being like him feel even an ounce of affection for a fleshie?) and currently in the stage of depression before noticing the way Sideswipe looks at you while scoping you away from your old computer for things to finally connect and make sense.

Also sending him back to the stage of anger morphed into rage (directed mostly to you due to his own reason of not really hating his own brother).

Sunstreaker anger reaches new levels that has everyone looking twice when his usual sour but accepting EM field twisted to such hatred, Ironhide almost got to the decision of getting the human away, "just let him deal with whatever is his problem" he said while trying to make you go with Ratchet's group of humans but choosing not to interfere when Sideswipe gave him the most woeful optics he has ever see once noticed what he was trying to do.

Later on the thing gets worse and Sunny is splashed in the face in the same way Blurr did (the world doesn't move around me FUCK) Just tht he did when he was finally separated from Hunter and got a very needed moment with his own thinking.

Does he get a very hard moment on it? Yeah, it's even pointed that he suffered from it since he feels bad for Hunter and not having the strength to at least say goodbye, tell him "hey, we did it", and dealing with his feelings on that matter, Sunstreaker couldn't, and that makes the fact of him trying to put himself straight the most painful as every other autobot, while not saying out loud, still can't easily trust in him again.

Sunstreaker is trying, but only time will tell if it's even worthy to try and heal a wound that is sure to leave a permanent scar.

Sideswipe loves Sunstreaker, they're brothers, they'll forever have one another, and Sideswipe has you, if only for a bit, and Sunstreaker also has to make amends with you, maybe to at least talk like decent people in company of one another, he will take whatever you throw at him because he knows Sideswipe liked you, just to realize his brother now loves you, Sunstreaker doesn't only see it, he feels it, near enough to his brother again to feel that tingle now tremor inside the bond.

He knows it's great, he feels it and his own spark resonates with the same feeling, he is happy for Sideswipe even when the idiot has yet to talk to you directly about the courting, but no matter how much Sideswipe tries, Sunstreaker doesn't know how to have a normal chat with you, or at least have you not reacting like you are about to kill him.

"You look great today"

"As if"

Your story with Sunstreaker is full of hatred directed to you for things you never did to him, the brothers fear such feeling will never fade away as Sunstreaker tries to seat beside you, looking at his pedes, trying to make small talk, say things he knows would rock the world for anyone, when words just don't work because Sunstreaker is always the one being fanned over and not the other way around, actions fade easy as all you center on him is that he is doing it a certain purpose to make you cry like before.

"I move the stars for no one", Sunstreaker could be showing you the beauty of late Cybertron's most intricate pieces of art and you would be thinking if he is going to make an offhand comment for you at any moment, not realizing he is letting you see them through his own databank, displayed for you to see in one of the most intimate displays of affection a cybertronian can do for a loved one, free vision to his precious memories, Sunny would try to give you ride once the war is over, trying to sound as soft as he can push his vocalizer and too close to imitate a purr with his engines, door open and inviting, he knows you had a long day shift, you're slow and the strange coloration under your eyes is too evident, he hates it, as it shows you're exhausted, but no matter, you keep walking, in any other occasion Sunstreaker would have abandoned you there for make him look like a fool, whatever, but he can't, he wants to, all he does is get into root mode and walk slowly next to you, commenting that Sides will never stop pestering him if something happened due to your foolishness and he was near the place.

"Your eyes can be so cruel", Sunstreaker, being like he is, guided by your rejection continuously, returns your hatred if only to protect himself, because how could you do this to him, "just as I can be so cruel", but he does understand, his anger more similar to a sad mech that is just a click away from scoping and shout at you to stop it, because you're hurting him.

Within you is a song about love, longing, but also heartbreak, Sunstreaker fits good in here.

"I can't live within you".

It will take time, a very good amount he hates with all of his being because every moment you stay in your stupid bubble of self-preservation the brothers have a day less to cherish due to your stupidly short lifespan, but apparently all has it's own reward for him, as one day he does shout at you, this time, however, is to tell you, he may have needed real psychological help with all of his trauma, but while pouring his inner hell to he last person he wanted to see him like that, he finds your gift in front of him again, patched up, offered more than a peace symbol, more like a proposition.

"I, I can't live within you"

[blumenflowergelb]

Love and Soulmates (1/2)

• Well, this day is as good as any other to be a ten name days old, Yn thought. He was sitting on his bed, staring and wondering what he had done to get this. If he was honest with himself, it was theoretically a good thing. However reality was often disappointing. He was in his ten years old body but with his seventeen years old mind. Of course, his actual age does not seem a lot but he was through a lot of shit; from escaping to Bravos to fighting while the Second Long Night to seeing the First Dawn. A journey which he did not wish to relive again. But as always the gods did not care about what a mere human thought. And Yn was sure that the Gods were behind it; even if he didn’t know which one.

• He didn’t know how long he spent lamenting about his life but a knocking on his door brought him out of his slump. It was his sweet sister, Margeary Tyrell. She came inside and begann to talk and talk, her voice cutting through Yn thoughts. She endlessly chatted mostly with herself, however she was not bothered. It was expected from the simpleton. Yes, Yn was a quit strange. He was always different from his siblings, he truly did not like anybody touching him, loud voices and things that were not in order. His fascination with reptiles outright creeped people out; even his oldest brother Willas. But after he fell down a tree and hit his head, he became worse. Loud voices, spinning around or tunes that were monotone left him feel weird. This feeling became so bad that he saw spots and often passed out. Obviously this was something which left him cut out of the better part of society. He did not have friends and even his brothers did not engage with him. Although it was probably because he despised fighting and horses. Fighting made his head spin and horses stank and their fur made him itchy. Nevertheless Margaery adored him. When they were younger Yn allowed her to changed him into women clothes and play tea party. As they got older they did not do this anymore but Margaery still spent a lot of time with Yn.

• The never ending chat of Margaery was a thing that Yn inwardly enjoyed. This was something that he had missed. After years the hurt of losing his family became manageable but it never truly disappeared. And seeing her alive and well was something that left Yn a bitter taste on his tounge. He was happy but he wasn’t. It was hard to explain; Yn was overjoyed to have a chance to change everything but on the other side he had lost people he cared about. Sansa with her fiery hair and face made out of ice, Arya and Rickon, the true wolf out of the Starks, and obviously Jon. Yn loved him. His red eyes and white hair did not make him afraid; only intimated. Yn loved the days where they sat next to each other, listening to the people around them talk and sing and boast. The Free Folk has never lost their hearts even after losing so many. They were the strongest, no matter what the others thought. Even the Long Night did not make the people of Westeros nice to them. Most still sneered and spat on them. But in Yn minds they were wrong. The Free Folk was the first place where the people didn’t care if he talked until he did his share of hunting and doing his chores. And he always did. Especially because of Jon. After Yn came back hunting he always smiled at Yn like he brought him the stars. The memory which always made him slightly blush and smile, now made him frown and his heart ache. Jon didn’t know him. Nobody did.

• This did not escape Margaerys‘ sight. However she interpreted the long face of Yn as a fear of what was going to happen. She was excited, especially because her brother was seen as an outsider. This was his chance to find the one who would love and take care of him for ever. She hoped that the woman was going to be very beautiful and very very good-hearted. She crawled closer to Yn and slowly caressed his cheeks. Whenever she looked at him she felt an overwhelming love. She truly loved her brother.

• Before Yn could blink he was spirited to his grandmother. Usually she was sitting outside with his mother and ten other girls. They all talked and Olenna crooked out her offensive opinions. Well usually. Today however was not usual. She sat still, facing the beautiful garden of Highgarden but only her son was there. As Yn arrived he only heard snippets of ‘money’, ‘cost’ and weirdly ‘fated’. Once he was standing before them, his grandmother shut his father up with a quick wave and smiled at Yn. He was not stupid, he knew that there was something wrong. His grandmother never smiled at him; she tried to conserve with him as little as she could. He was held in a higher regard than his cousins but it was clear that he was her least favourite. Nonetheless now she was smiling at him. Not only she was looking kind but she even ordered his favourite food, lemon cakes. At this Sansa flashed in Yn‘s mind. They shared a love for lemon cakes and every time they fought over the last piece. But his grandmother’s speech left his memory quickly fade away and fear replaced it. She talked about his ten and one nameday next day and a fated mark, the Will of the Seven, soulmates, the cost of his wedding and which people are going to be invited. Mace tried to talk but whenever he opened his mouth Olenna hushed him. Once she was done she stood up, kissed Yn‘s cheek and ordered her twin guards to her. But before she left Yn and Mace alone she turned around and sent a glare towards her son, telling him that it was time. This left Yn dreading whatever was coming.

• The awkward silence was not broken until Mace sighed, took a lemon cake and begann to eat. After some humming he was done and leaned back on his chair, hand folded over his stomach. He begann to humm some more and sighed again. Once Yn heard the famous sentence ‘ You know son, there are things which a man must tell their son.’ he knew he was done. But before he could stand up his father took an other lemon cake, quickly ate that and looked deeply in Yn‘s eyes. The conservation which followed was one of the most mortifying thing Yn has ever experienced. Not even seeing hundreds of dead people could make him as sick as this. His father talked and talked about girls and boys and their differences down there. Than he went over talking about babies, which then led him to gush about how damm cute all his children were. This was followed by him talking about weddings and ceremonien and the most important: bedding. At this point Yn has given up. He was less than a day in this world and he was given The Talk. And he couldn’t even tell his father that he knew! Well not much about women but more about men. And well not men but about Jon. He was the first and last person Yn has ever been intimate with. This confirmed Yn that he was a indeed a pillow bitter but he could hardly tell his father about that.

• One thing that was new to Yn were the soulmates. He was sure that they didn’t have that. After thinking long about what it meant, Yn decided that he was not in the same world in which he spent majority of his life. And that soulmates were cool. Almost everybody had them, from the lowest to the highest person on earth. Only men and women without a mark could become a maester, septon/ septa or priest. The marks were seen as godly and everybody had to obey to them. Breaking apart a bond like that was seen as a grave mistake and death was the punishment for who tried to break it apart. The good thing about the soulmark was the way it appeared. There were marks that displayed a picture of all kinds, some were words; some sentences. They were marks that only appeared when the soulmates touched or looked at each other. Some lost the colour of their sights and could only seen any kind of colour once they looked in each other’s eyes. Some had compasses that showed where their other was located, some had quotes that matched, others had half their hair the colour of their soulmate��s. This manifested once they had their ten and one nameday. And Yn had his the next day.

• He didn’t care about his birthday. It passed in a frenzy and once he was sent to his chambers to wait and sleep, he was in ecstasy. He wanted to stay up the whole night but the maester told him that he had to sleep so that the Will of the Gods would fulfill in secret. No human was allowed to see the manifestation. Still Yn could barely sleep. He was trembling with fear and excitement. He wanted a soulmate but was affraid to get one. The idea of not having one left him feeling devastated so he didn’t think about it. He wanted Jon but was affraid of who he was now. He wanted and wanted but was affraid of so many things until he fell asleep. Dawn was barely coming when Yn felt a horrible burning on his left wrist. It left him gasping and crying but the manifestation was done. He got a compass pointing towards the North. It was golden but elegant and had a quote around the compass saying, ‘Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle’. And if you looked closely there were six direwolf, each different, running around and playfighting. It was perfect, Yn whispered to himself with tears escaping his eyes.

• The second he left his room he was jumped on by Margaery. She led him to the dinning room to break their fast while talking and talking. One minute she wanted to see the mark, the next minute she didn’t until they were with the whole family. They quickly arrived and his family was immediately on Yn. Once they saw the compass and closely inspected it, they all fell silent until Margaery laughed. Better said she cried while laughing and gave a big hug to Yn. While they hugged, Mace begann to plan a letter for Ned Stark. Even for him was clear that his son was meant for one of wolf blood.

• Olenna slowly fanned herself. It was hot for her age; she was not as young and agile as she once was. Undertaking such a big journey to Winterfell from Highgarden had affected her health negatively. Regardless, she was sure that she would crawl to Winterfell if it must be. She would never pass such an opportunity. And she was needed to talk to his grandsons future father-in-law. She was throughly thinking about all the possibilities that their journey could mean and what she had to do for the better of her house. Such an union between great houses was not seen since decades, especially between a fourth son and a bastard. Olenna was sure that it was the bastard that was the soulmate of her simpleton but kind hearted grandson. If not then why did Lady Catelyn not boast about one of her children being the soulmate of a Tyrell? She was after all a Tully, a very proud house, Olenna thought. The marriage could mean a lot for the Tyrells. A lot of good and bad. Olenna could only hope that if the bastard was the one then her little spies were not wrong about his father’s affection. Nobody needed an alliance with a bastard that held no power. She even entertained the idea of overthrowing the bastard brother‘s but quickly desposed of it. The Starks were too loyal. And the compass showed enough. Six direwolfs playing. This could only mean one thing. Her inner discussion was stoped once a loud knock was heard. She opened the side pannel and looked at one of her twin guards. She burrowed her eyebrows after she heard her foolish grandson riding out to meet his future beloved.

• Winterfell was as big as ever, Yn decided. It certainly looked better than the last time he saw it. It was huge and dark. But it was warm; and that is what mattered. He knew that the walls were warm with spring water and that the halls were always kept warm. He couldn’t wait to bath and bask in the memory of Winterfell and their occupants. And to see Jon again. As excited he was, he was as fearful. He was sure that Jon and him were meant to be together, but still. It was weird and new and they were so young. Jon was not older than ten and three, an age which Yn has never seen him. The worst thing was the people he traveled with. Lord Stark has invited hundred of people of the North and South and thousands came. The North wanted to see House Stark marry as a rich House as the Tyrells and the South wished to see House Stark and the North. This journey and wedding meant a lot of new alliances and weddings for the Realm. Even the King has journeyed to the North, but Yn was sure that he wasn’t there for the wedding. Not truly. It was Ned he was there for. Saddly Jon Arryn was not able to attend since he did not want to leave the rest of the Realm behind. What surprised Yn was that the Martells sent Oberyn Martell and his paramour as guests. It meant that they were planning something. Or they were simply affraid that the Reach allied with the North that can give them enough timber for a new war.

• Yn felt butterflies fighting in his stomach. He was so nervous that even Garlan commented on his suddenly disappearing horse riding abilities. To this Renly begann to joke around about riding what else and instead of shutting him down Garlan laughed with him. If Yn wasn’t as nervous he would have told them already off. Shortly before they arrived Willas slowed them down and talked about whom Yn had to greet firstly and what to do. Even the common courtesies flew over Yn’s head. He hoped that he would not make a fool of himself because if he did he would die. Maybe the rumour of him being a simpleton would minder the embarrassment but Yn did not want to make a fool out of Jon. While Yn was deep in his thoughts they arrived at the gates. Everybody sat straighter and rode inside the castle.

• Yn was sure that he was going to die. His compass was going crazy, the pointer spinning around, meaning that his soulmate was very close. And he was. The first thing he saw was Jon and the first thing he did was blushing. He felt his face light on fire and he was sure that everybody saw that. He was so embarrassed that he didn’t even look at the Starks. The worst was when he almost feel down his horse and if not for Loras he would have facepalmed the earth. He saw Loras trying to hide his chuckle but as always he couldn’t. This made Yn face more redder, his ears were so hot that he wanted to just jump in the next snow pile. And than he had to walk to the Starks and greet each of them. Ned Stark was an imposing man, and even bigger when you were only ten and two namedays old. His eyes hid a certain amusement and he kindly greeted Yn. Lady Catelyn was even kinder and hoped that their visit went well. The next person was Robb. He was cute but Yn understood why he was made King so early on. He looked like his ladymother but his eyes shone like his fathers. However the next person took Yn‘s breath away. He went redder than he thought to be possible and shyly held out his right hand. There was hope in Jon‘s beautiful dark grey eyes, but it was replaced with uncertainty once they touched each other hands. It was clear that he expected something more from the contact but was greatly disappointed. Yn moved on, after he saw this, and greated the girls and Bran with enthusiasm. Rickon was not there, but Yn knew that it must be because he was still a babe. After they were done with the greetings and talking, Lady Catelyn sent servant go show each if them a room, while excusing the lack of grand food. She told them that they expected them to arrive the next day and could only offer them a humble feast. Yn obviously had to make himself more foolish and told the lady that they came early because he was excited. At this even Willas had a hard time not laughing and while they walked away Yn had to hit him with his elbow to shut up. Once they were out of hearing range, his brothers recreated everything and Renly instead of helping, laughed with them. Yn was mortified enough to not even say goodbye to them and he just shut his door. His chamber was very big and beautifully filled with furs and other animal skins but Yn couldn’t appreciate it. Without a second he jumped on his bed and hid his face in a soft pillow. He was so flustered, especially seeing Jon‘s face fall, that he decided to never move again. Well until a servant brought him warm water. After he cleaned himself and spent an embarrassingly long time to decide what to wear, he went out to look for his brothers and Renly. Then they went to the feast. After Yn saw what was set in the table he thought that if this was not seen by Lady Catelyn as grand than what was grandiose? For being in the North, where every grain mattered, it was rich. He knew that for Renly and even Loras, as vain and proud they were, this would not seem to be anything big;but for Yn it was. He saw firsthandedly what people ate in the Winter.

• The food was good, the conservation was firstly awkward but the Garlan and Renly begann to talk and it was good again. Yn didn’t speak but nobody seemed to mind. Robb openly stared at him, even when Jon discreetly poked him, and Arya and Bran were so captured by Garlan telling them stories of his training that they barely ate. Sansa spent her time looking at Loras and Renly. Willas was entertaining Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark listened to everything and only said something if it was necessary. Jon sometimes looked up from his food only go meet Yn‘s eyes, who then averted his gaze and once even let his fork fall. Everybody was kind enough to not say anything but Yn only became more flustered. After they were done Yn felt Jon‘s gaze follow him and he thanked the Gods for not making him trip. They did not converse on the way to their rooms and Yn again thanked the Gods for not making his brothers make fun of him. After that he quickly readied himself for bed and after Willas came in to say good night he walked around his new room. They were bear and elk furs and Yn was sure that the skin belonged to a boar. The tapestries were beautifully done and Yn could not marvel enough. While he tried to remember from whom he the story of the tapestry knew, Jon came in his room. Yn turned around and greeted him only for Jon to not move. Yn did not move either, so they looked at each other, assessing everything about the other. Yn felt his knees getting weaker the longer he spent looking at Jon. He was truly beautiful and breathtaking. After some more silence Jon moved towards Yn and held his right hand out. Yn held his hand out too and once they touched Jon frowned, but did not ask. He left his hand fall in disappointment but before he could speak Yn touched his arm with his left. The burn was strong but once it ebbed away both felt an overwhelming sensation of love and adoration. Yn cradled their hand together and pulled Jon to himself. Jon slowly caressed Yn‘s face, as if he was something valuable and then leaned to his face. The small kiss they shared made Yn‘s heart fly higher than a bird and left him feeling like he could burst to flames. It was perfect and even after Jon left, Yn couldn’t help but replay their kiss again and again.

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 1

Part 2

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness.]

...

Danny was used to seeing the dead. He was one of them, actually. People have been dying for thousands of years and will continue to die for thousands more. Hearing the whispers of people who should have passed on was nothing unusual, even if it gave him an uncomfortable sense of wrongness.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t like Gotham City.

Don’t get him wrong! Gotham was a lovely place to live; if you were psychotic. But the gothic architecture that never seemed to crumble, the visible smog that settled over the skies like a thick blanket, and the acidic aftertaste the water had were just enough to make Danny uncomfortable as he trekked through the streets. It had just rained, and the random sounds of water dripping off buildings made him flinch. Puddles kept reflecting the surroundings unusually. The smell of wet asphalt was heavy in the air, nothing like the freshness of Amity’s rain.

He felt itchy and weird in his skin, like something was trying to burn it off. It was just past three am, and Danny had just gotten off his split shift at some high-end nightclub. The Iceberg Lounge, or something like that. He’d gotten a job as a busboy since he was too young to work as a bouncer or bartender. Honestly, he was lucky they let him have a job at all. He took every shift he could, sometimes going over the legal limit of what a minor was allowed to work.

His boss allowed it, however. On a few conditions.

Listen in on the customers and report anything interesting to management. Danny was tiny, way too small for his age of sixteen. But he was great at making himself unnoticeable, which allowed him to keep his ears open for exciting deals and whatnot that were going around. He didn’t feel good about the work, but it kept food on the table. So far, the worst he’s reported was a plan to move against Red Hood and his gang. It wasn't ideal, but Danny could put up with the prying eyes and greedy hands so long as he got paid on time.

Oh, but the dead? They were so much worse.

The dead always noticed him. And they always talked to him. He could barely think straight with all the ghouls, specters, shades, and other souls that always clamored for his attention. Gotham’s dark atmosphere bred hundreds of angry souls who refused to move on until their business was finished. But without a steady source of ectoplasm or a natural portal, most of them stayed as shadows of their former selves. They stuck to the city's underbelly, brewing in anger and making the town sicker than it already was. Some of them, the stronger ones with a real bone to pick, chose to haunt the living, clinging to a person’s back and leeching off their life energy. Those were the ones Danny had to deal with the most in Gotham.

It was horrible. Everything was just so sad and angry! The city had a lot of fucked-up people living here, and the worst of them had so many shades sticking to them. They all wanted something. It made Danny feel like he was always having an allergy attack. The city just messed his senses up in the worst way possible. Danny would gladly be living anywhere else if it wasn’t for his need to hide and survive.

Kill them. Danny shivered as he turned a corner, and a shadow reached out to stick to his shoulder, whispering filthy words into his ear. Kill them for me. He brushed the spirit off, ignoring their hiss. His back ached, and his head throbbed. Danny just wanted to climb into the shit hole he called home and fall asleep on the thin futon he’d shoved into a corner.

So he did.

Danny climbed the rickety fire escape up to his apartment as quietly as possible (the main staircase was out of order) and shimmied himself through the broken window that never opened all the way. His backpack was stored under his futon, in the floorboards, and he collapsed without changing his clothes.

Maybe tomorrow’s shift will be better. He thought, closing his eyes.

…

It was not better. His next shift was as shitty as all the others.

“Take this to the east balcony on the second floor.” Danny’s supervisor for the night, Tamia, shoved a heavy tray laden with beer bottles and fancy cocktails into his hands, pointing vaguely to the staircase he’d have to use. It was only thanks to Danny’s ghost strength that he didn’t collapse under the weight.

“Isn’t that where the boss is?” He asked, squinting past the bright lights, barely making out the short outline of Oswald Cobblepot as he talked up some rough-looking characters.

Tamia nodded, distracted. She was already back to whipping up complicated drinks and barking orders at the other servers. “Yeah, so don’t fuck this up. In and out, ya hear?”

“Got it, Tam.”

She waved him off, and he began the rough journey to the second floor, skirting around the edges of the packed tables, avoiding the odd penguin, and taking careful steps up the staircase, floating just barely above the floor to make sure he didn’t slip. Guests and other workers ignored him, but their shades reached out, caressing him in a way that made him want to squirm. He couldn’t shake them off, not while he was carrying the tray.

She killed me, one whispered as a lady dressed in diamonds passed.

I was drugged, said another when a burly older man walked by.

Danny pressed close to the walls as a group meandered on by. My teddy bear! A little girl’s voice cried out, and he couldn’t tell which of the group it was coming from. He took my teddy bear! I want it back!

I can’t help you, he thought viciously, trying to charge the air around him with hostility. It was difficult. The humans would pick up on it if he harshed the vibes too much. Too little, and the shades would ignore it. A nearby penguin squawked in alarm, but the spirits backed off, so he counted it as a win.

Finally, he reached the east balcony. The thick curtains were closed, but his sharp hearing still caught a few words through the club's noise. Something about the gang war Red Hood had prevented (the one Danny had reported on.)

But it wasn’t his job to worry about that. He wasn’t a hero anymore. Instead, Danny politely knocked on a pillar holding the curtains up, waiting to be let in.

The conversation quieted. “Who is it?” asked his boss.

“Drinks, sir,” Danny replied simply. The curtain was let open, and by the Ancients, Danny wished he’d never taken this job.

The balcony was brimming with the dead. It reeked with the heavy stench of death.

He suppressed a cough, clamping his mouth shut as he passed out drinks. His hostile aura was drowned out by the sheer amount of spirits clamoring at each other, practically at each other’s ghostly throats. Some of them had real definition to their features, telling Danny that this was not a group to be messed with. One of the spirits was on the verge of gaining its own consciousness, dripping a familiar green Danny had come to associate with his rouges. The spirit's burning eyes turned to him, and Danny was overwhelmed with the scent of rot rolling off it. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

He started to pass out drinks, suppressing the urge to shiver as hands gripped at his face, his clothes, his arms, his everything. The shades had noticed him. They clamored around him, filling his head with white noise. It was horrible.

Mr. Cobblepot eyed the boy, noticing how his newest employee had tensed up and gone noticeably paler in the presence of his guests.

The kid had practically folded in on himself as another aide swept aside the curtains. His hands trembled just barely, and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes straight on, instead looking past their ear or at their foreheads. He also noticed how Red Hood, sitting directly to his right, had gone stiff when the kid entered the room. The crime lord wasn’t showing his face, but he could still see how Hood tracked Danny’s movements like a hawk, tensed like he was about to leap out of his chair and assault the kid. Danny, for his part, had clamped his mouth shut and did his duties diligently and quickly, seemingly not noticing Red Hood’s attention on him.

Everyone began murmuring again, continuing their conversations now that they had booze to loosen their tongues. Mr. Cobblepot took a tentative sip of his fancy cocktail, non-alcoholic, of course. He couldn’t have his thoughts inhibited while in the middle of a business deal.

The kid was in and out like a ghost, barely making a sound as he slipped past the curtains once more, tray clutched to his chest.

“Who was that?” Red Hood finally tore his attention away from the kid’s retreating back and turned to the host of the evening.

Mr. Cobblepot waved him off. “A new hire. Don’t worry. All the paperwork is in order; he’s not here illegally.” Lies slipped off his tongue like honey, and luckily, Red Hood was too distracted to notice. “Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?”

Danny practically ran down the stairs and back into the kitchens. He barely had time to shove his empty tray into Tamia’s hands before he slammed the back doors open and heaved the contents of his stomach out next to a dumpster.

Ancients, that was horrific. Danny knelt there for a few moments, dry heaving some more until his stomach was well and truly empty. Acid burned the back of his throat.

“Holy shit Danny! What happened?” Thin hands clamped down on his shoulders, making him flinch. The touch softened, and they started rubbing circles on his back instead. It was Tamia, no doubt having run after him when she saw his pale face.

Danny shuddered and shook his head. “Sorry.” He gasped. “I think-I think I’m allergic to something they were wearing.”

“Fuck.” Tamia cursed softly. “If I get you a drink, will that settle your stomach?”

“Probably, yeah.”

His (totally awesome, reminded him of Jazz) supervisor stood up decisively. “Then I’m getting you some water.” She told him. Two wispy shades curled around her neck, chittering at him with anxiety. “Sit out here and take some deep breaths. We’re short-staffed tonight, so I’ll send Mia to the balconies instead. We can’t afford to send you home.”

“And I can’t afford to miss a shift.” He joked. His heart wasn't in it.

Tamia turned and opened the back door. “Well, if you’re already cracking jokes, you’ll be back to waiting tables in no time~” She cackled over her shoulder.

Danny smiled at her retreating back. Tamia was a nice person, and he didn’t meet many of those these days. She was tall, with dark skin and a wit to match Nightwing’s. He’s sure she was only looking out for him because he reminded her of her two younger siblings, dead from a house fire a few years ago. (If he had to hazard a guess, the two shades that clung to her with such desperation were what was left of those very siblings.) It was fine. He’d take any pity he could get.

Coughing slightly, Danny leaned back on his heels and looked up, trying to see past Gotham’s cloud cover. Instead of stars, he saw two white eyes narrow at him from the top of the building. A dark mass writhed above the eyes, making the figure they belonged to blend in with the background. Danny yelped in surprise and fell on his butt. When he looked up again, the eyes were gone.

Well, shit.

Danny scrambled to his feet and tore open the back door, almost running into Tamia, who had a bottle of water in her hands. “Tam!” He blurted. “Get the boss! The Bat is here!”

...

[Pretty short cause I gotta skedaddle off to work. This is a planned fic that will be pretty short, and I'll link the next part below at a later date. Hope you enjoyed it!]